


Slave Speak

by glow_in_the_dark



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dom/sub, Everything is consensual, F/F, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Johnlock - Freeform, Light BDSM, M/M, Pay Attention To Chapter Warnings, Shibari, casefic, slave speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glow_in_the_dark/pseuds/glow_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John helps Sherlock investigate a case at a BDSM club. They two go under the disguise of a Dom/sub couple with John as the Dom. Unexpectantly, Sherlock can't cope with all the sexual data going on around him and John has to find a way to keep his detective focussed enough to concentrate on the case. </p><p>I'll only really be focussing on John/Sherlock, the F/M and F/F warning are there for the brief descriptions of other couples that will be needed to describe poor Sherlock's meltdown.<br/>Not all warnings are tagged, so please play specific attention to each chapter summary for it's list of warnings. Please.</p><p>DISTCONTINUED. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL, LOL</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: May it be noted, that not only is slave speak a very real thing but is a total bitch to learn. It takes ages for the correct answers and replies to come naturally without a lot of pre-thought. Constant praising and light punishments whilst you're learning it most certainly helps. But once you know it and then screw up, the punishments suck ass, lol. So if you want to be mentally owned, indulge yourself in a bit of slave speak, and please, for the love of Slash Gods, play safe. I'm basing Sherlock's reactions on some of my own personal reactions whilst learning slave speak and of another sub I know who has been speaking it years before me, so hopefully it will come out rather convincingly lol. But note that just his reactions to slave speak are based on my own, none of the actual sex stuff. So you aren't actually reading my porny diary, thank god. 
> 
> Non-beta'd or Brit-picked so all mistakes are mine.

"Come again?" John asked, eyeing Sherlock with just a hint of bewilderment. 

"We are going to a BDSM club to look for a con artist/killer. We will use the disguise of a Dominant and submissive couple, with myself playing the submissive role because giving orders comes naturally to you and I can't possibly see you crawling around on your knees passively even if it's for a case. My acting abilities should allow me to convincingly play the role, it will be entirely up to you whether or not our real identities will be discovered."

John ignored Sherlock's insults for the time being. "And who hired you again?"

"Not important."

"Kinda is, Sherlock."

"He owns the club 'Controversial'. And as the name suggests, it caters to those who like to play 'rough'."

"What, rougher than what BDSM already applies?"

"It provides a safe and consensual environment for those who wish to partake in darker pleasures, yes."

"Right." John took a moment to gather his thoughts before addressing Sherlock again. "And how exactly is this guy luring his victims in?"

"From the evidence I have gathered, he seems to be a 'switch' and has an extensive background in con-artistry. He can act domineering to prey on subs and also act submissive to lure in Doms. His ability to portray both roles flawlessly allows him to pick and choose his victims and lure them away to their ultimate demise. He gains their trust then apparently kills them mid scene."

"But surely if people started going missing you could just look at the clubs security videos and find the same man leaving with each of the victims. And what do you mean 'apparently'?"

"It would appear he is not only a master of disguise and owns several membership cards, but also disposes of the bodies in such a way that not one has been found."

"Then how do you know that there's even a guy killing out there?"

"Our employer has noticed a few regulars absent where they usually attend and has also lost his own submissive to this killer."

"And it's not possible that they just ran away?"

"He has informed me it is not."

"Ah... I see."

A silence settled over them both. 

"Go upstairs and get changed into the clothes I have left on your bed. We leave in one hour."

"We're going tonight!?"

"Time is of the essence, John."

"Well, yes, but..."

"You may want to shower first to remove the smell of Purex from your person. Should an event arise where you need to put your fingers in my mouth, I do not wish to gag on the taste of anti-bacterial hand sanitizer."

"Fine I'll... Wait. My fingers in your mouth?" John looked at Sherlock incredulously. 

Sherlock raised as eyebrow in return. "We are going to a BDSM club, John. Anything is possible. Physical interaction most probable."

"Yes... Of course." John shook his head side to side lightly as he made his way up the stairs. "The things I do for my mates..."

\-------------------

John thought wildly in the shower. The only things he really knew about BDSM was what he had seen in porn; ropes, floggers, and a whole lot of vinyl. Top that off with some rough sex and that was as far as John's super kinky knowledge went. 

But Sherlock had said that the club catered to those with even darker desires. What did that mean exactly? Should he be concerned about the physical and mental condition of the people in the club for wanting to hurt and be hurt in turn? 

John settled his mind as he got out of the shower. Worrying over something he hadn't even seen yet would do him no good. He would go to the club tonight, suss the occupants of the club and their activities out, then do some thorough online research when they got home. 

With a towel wrapped securely around his hips, John's hand froze when it came to rest on the door handle to his room. What kind of clothing was waiting for him on his bed? Would it be anything like all the vinyl in the porn he had watched? Would he have to don heavy leather boots and carry round a flogger? Was he going to have to wear one of those little hats and chest harnesses that did nothing but make the person wearing them look really gay?!

It turned out that he was worrying about nothing. 

Sherlock had gone and purchased him a very expensive looking charcoal grey suit. Waistcoat and all. John ran his fingertips over the material of the trousers and felt a slight thrill at how luxurious the material was. There was an ice blue dress shirt to go with the suit as well. Brand new dress shoes and socks sat beside the suit, John not surprised in the least that Sherlock knew his shoe size and measurements.  

John tried not to think too much into the matter of the red pants sitting neatly folded beside the laid out suit. 

\--------------------

John wasn't a vain person in any sense of the word. But holy damn, he looked amazing. They needed to do more cases that required John to wear expensive suits. Sherlock hadn't lay out a tie for him so John decided to leave the first few buttons of his shirt open to just expose his collar bone. 

He descended the stairs with a slightly cocky spring in his step, knowing that if he went down to any pub he could have any woman he wanted. He just looked that good. 

"Hey, Sherlock, this suit is amazing. Where on earth did you..." The rest of his words died in his throat on spotting Sherlock standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

Sherlock had on leather pants. Tight, high quality leather encased those long, long legs. Light seemed to be absorbed by the material, highlighting and emphasizing the strong muscles that lay beneath.

John very pointedly did not think about what Sherlock's ass would look like in the leather pants...

Black leather converse's that went up to mid calf donned his feet, somehow appearing very appropriate and making Sherlock seem younger. On top he simply wore a plain white button down shirt that looked about five sizes too big. It was unbuttoned to the end of his sternum, pale skin stretched tight over toned pectorals. Chasing crime all over London had it's benefits. The sleeves were rolled up to mid forearm, a heavy leather cuff sitting snugly around each wrist. 

John stepped forward upon seeing the cuffs and was happy Sherlock didn't say or do anything when he lifted the man's wrists to make sure there was enough room for steady blood flow. The insides of the cuffs were lined with the softest of sheep's wool to ensure no chaffing or abrasions would occur. John let go of Sherlock's wrists satisfied and took a step back. 

Sherlock gave him a knowing smile about John's inner doctor bursting out before speaking. "We need to go over a few things before we enter the club tonight."

"Of course." John nodded his head then frowned slightly, his eyebrows drawing inwards. "Are you wearing makeup?"

"It's a bit of eyeliner, John. I was going for a disguise that made me look younger so that should I some how fail to keep up with traditional BDSM expectations, I could blame it on my inexperience and youth. Or more, you could blame it on that."

"Yeah, whatever. You're still wearing makeup." John sniggered, his smile broadening at Sherlock's glare. 

"As I was saying," Sherlock interrupted John's attempts to calm down. "We need to go over a few things before we get into the club. The first is a safe word. Should either of us-"

"You mean me."

"-either of us feel that what is going on around us has become too intense to maintain our roles or that things have become exceedingly awkward, then we need a word to signal this and then promptly either extract ourselves from the room or the club entirely."

"Solar system."

"What?"

"Solar system. Our safe word can be 'solar system'."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. "Fine, but don forget it."

"No chance." John smirked. 

"Secondly; terminology. Whilst in the club you are not to refer to me by name. 'Sherlock' is too unique and may draw too much attention or run the risk of others knowing me personally by name."

"I presume I'm fine with my name?"

"I'm getting to that. You may call me any mix of: 'pet', 'sub', 'slave', 'slut', 'boy', and in our case I believe we could even get away with you calling me 'love'."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with calling you a slut."

"That's fine, just don't feel you are limited to only referring to me by one term."

"Ok. But why 'love'?"

"It is obvious to tell that we live together to anybody that bothers to look. And I am under the impression that Dominants are very observant, so it goes to say that they will be able to notice that we share the same living quarters. When a Dom and a sub live together it usually implies a level of intimacy that extends beyond the 'scene'. So endearments and nicknames will be some what expected."

"Alright, I suppose that makes sense. Does that go for physical proximity as well?"

"Generally, yes. When you stop of sit down it is expected of me to kneel behind or beside you out of respect and politeness. I'm not to talk to anyone without your express permission either, for the same reasons. I'm also meant to keep my head down and avoid eye contact, but..."

"It will be hard for you to scan the crowd and make deductions that could point towards the killer if you have your head down."

"Precisely." Sherlock briefly looked pleased with himself that John had come to that conclusion. 

"That's fine. If anybody asks why you don't have your head down I'll say it's because I want you to take everything in and let me know if anything stands out to you that you might want to try later."

"Perfect." That brief look was now permanent on his face. "As for what I am to refer to you as, you have the choice of me calling you: 'Sir', 'Master', or just 'John'."

"Let's go with 'Sir'. I have the feeling that things won't go down well if you not only don't have your eyes down but also call me by my name as well."

"Fair point." Sherlock walked into the kitchen to unzip a duffle bag on the kitchen table. "I want you to prepare yourself for the fact that we might have to engage in some sort of physical exertion whilst in the club. I've put together a few items that will allow for activities that will please those curious enough to ask but still maintain some sense of modesty on our parts." Sherlock smirked at the shell shocked look on John's face. "Don't worry, John, nothing in here will harm your heterosexuality... much."

John bristled at having his straightness being called into question and squared his shoulders. "What do you have?"

Sherlock swallowed his laughter at John's resolve. "A paddle, a small and large deerskin flogger, ankle cuffs, chains to link all cuffs together, several lengths of rope, a spreader bar, a blindfold, ball gag, nipple clamps, anal beads, a variety of dildos and vibrators, an anal plug, cock ring, condoms and lubricant. Most things in here are more for show should anybody request to view 'our toys', but know that you have my consent and permission to use any of the items in this bag should the moment present itself."

John felt the life leave his body. Sherlock had just listed several very kinky, and most certainly very gay ways to which John could punish or praise him in a very sexual context. "...Ok." He managed to squeak out. 

Sherlock did let out a bit of a laugh this time. "You also have the option of me wearing a collar." Sherlock reached into the bag and pulled out two black leather collars, one thin the other thick. "A collar shows others that I belong expressly to you and that no one can not touch me without your say so. That being said I do not wish for anyone other than you to touch me."

"Ok." John looked over each of the collars and imagined them snugly around Sherlock throat. The thicker collar was definitely out, far big and bulky for Sherlock's thin frame. The thinner collar was alright, it would suit him and give Sherlock the piece of mind that nobody else would touch him. But neither of them looked personal enough. "Give me a sec. I don't want you wearing either of those." John left the room and marched up the stairs to the second floor. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his retreating back, placing the collars down on the kitchen table. After a minute or two, John came back down the stairs with something concealed in his fist. 

"If you are going to be playing the role of my submissive then it will help greatly if you are actually wearing something of mine." John uncurled his fingers to reveal his dog tags. "Is that alright? Because if it's not then you can wear the thinner collar. I don't want to run the risk of us chasing down a suspect and..."

"Its fine." Sherlock quickly reached out and clasped the dog tags, pulling them over his head probably a bit too eager. The cool, flat metal sat precisely over his heart and for some reason that comforted Sherlock greatly. "I'm actually glad you suggested this cause I really didn't want to wear a collar. Brilliant, John. Just brilliant."

"I have my moments." John smiled proudly. "It will make us look more convincing as a couple too."

Sherlock turned quickly to zip up the duffle bag and ignored the way his heart beat increased at the sound of the dog tags clinking together. "Let's go then."

\-------------------

Sherlock had hired them a bloody limo. 

"It will give us the illusion of immense wealth and hopefully we will be able to mingle in with the crowd of people that the suspect targets. It should become quickly apparent either who the next victim is or who the suspect is himself.  If they ask what you do for a living state that you are a private doctor."

John was fighting off a smile at how Sherlock kept fidgeting in his seat to accommodate room within his tight leather pants. "And what if they ask what you do?"

"I don't think they will, but should the occasion arise say that I'm an accountant, nobody asks for details concerning accountants."

"Alright."

\--------------------

The limousine came to a stop, John taking a calming breath as he composed himself. He is a private doctor, having come back from Afghanistan a few years ago and rebuilding his practice. His partner is an accountant and their relationship extended greatly where intimacy was concerned. Squaring his shoulders John reverted his whole physical demeanor to Captain John Watson, army medic. "I don't want you walking behind me at any point tonight. I want you within my line of sight, always, whilst we get used to the layout of the club and it's inhabitants. There's a killer inside and I don't intend for either of us to come into any sort of harms way." Johns tone held that of an order from taking on the posture of his army days, each not possible without the other. So to top it all off John added a, "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Sherlock had been changing his demeanor as John did, his posture remaining much the same except for the slight rounding on his shoulders to convey an air of respectful submission. He softened his gaze from his usual piercing glances to that of somebody who was eager to learn and just as eager to please his Dom. 

"Good. Take the bag and come open my door for me, love." John wanted the first time he called Sherlock such a private endearment to be between the two of them to see the man's reactions. Sherlock quickly stumbled for the duffle bag, slinging it over one shoulder as he hurried from the car muttering a "Yes, Sir." as he left. John had seen the quick intake of breath at calling Sherlock something so personal and wondered if Sherlock had ever been given a lovers nickname in his lifetime. 

He didn't have any more time to ponder about that though as his door was opened, an eager Sherlock waiting patiently on the other side. John stepped out of the car and straightened out his suit jacket, smoothing away any wrinkles caused by the car ride. He smiled up at Sherlock, the taller man smiling shyly back down at him in return. Placing his hand in the small of Sherlock's back John lead them both into 'Controversial'. 

\--------------------

They had to climb two flights of stairs before Sherlock pointed out a pair of unmarked double doors. John nodded and pushed open the heavy metal, Sherlock quickly slipping inside behind him, staying by his side as they walked to the front desk in what appeared to be a lobby of sorts. 

A woman dressed in casual business attire smiled up at the two of them, briefly looking at each before settling her gaze on John. "Name please."

"John Watson." As John answered he saw Sherlock in his peripheral vision reach up with a hand to clasp his dog tags, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth over his raised credentials. 

"Ah, Mr. Watson. Master Carlisle is awaiting your arrival. Once inside the club please take an immediate right and take the stairs up to the balcony. Master Carlisle will be waiting for you there." She smiled politely at John, tapping a few keys on the keyboard of her computer as she stored away information. "Master Carlisle has your membership card with him, so next time you visit us you can walk straight up to those doors there," She pointed to another set of double doors across the room from the ones they had just entered. "Swipe your card and get immediate access to the club. You have access to all three levels but please note the complete sobriety is needed for the third. I'll buzz you in today."

"Thank you very much." John smiled at her as he placed his hand back on the small of Sherlock's back and led them to the clubs doors. The metallic click of the locks unlocking sounded loud in his ears as John grasped the door handle and pushed the club doors open. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: we got blowjobs, handjobs, masturbation, assisted masturbation, vibating buttplugs, and some Sherlocksbraingetsoverloadedandfreaksout going in here. So if any of these things don't appeal to you, then don't read. But honestly, shit just gets more intense from here on out, so if you can't handle this then you go no hopes in this fic ahead of you, lol. Also a few very breif mentions of other stuff, but nothing too damning, so no worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Damn this chapter is a long one. It was a quick write though, considering. But I’ll warn you now that the next chapter won’t come out nearly as quickly, sorry. But did you know that slave speak can also be referred to as 'slave speech'? Well you do now! Look at you, learning new things from porn. Slave speech most certainly sounds classier than slave speak, but I always call it slave speak, so, yeah. If Sherlock ever says it, he can say speech cause he's a classy bastard. John can say speak cause he's more practical and likes ending things with harsh tones instead of hushed ones. Yeah. ONWARDS!!!

The large double doors closed behind them as John briefly glanced at his surroundings, back straight and tall. Well, as tall as John Watson can get. 

John takes in the luxurious setting around him. They are in a very large room with incredibly high ceilings, delicate white drapes curling lazily around black marble support pillars to match the black marble floors. Around the base of each pillar was a plush circular black leather couch. The pillars closer to the centre of the room had what looked to be live ivy running up them, giving a very modern Roman theme to the room. A circular bar was situated in the very centre if the room, the bartenders dressed in white suits with thin black ties. Music played softly in the background, something like a modern club remix of classical music. John didn't think it was that bad but knew that Sherlock probably hated it. 

Men and woman stood and sat about the room, all dressed incredibly formal, like John himself, engaged in conversations and just generally mingling. The only thing that hinted that this wasn't a business function for the elite was the men and women kneeling beside their partners, dressed in attire similar to Sherlock's. They sat still and seemed happy to just be in the presence of their partners, making their Master's and Mistress' proud with their freely given silence and submission. 

John took a right, his hand immediately settling on the small of Sherlock's back as they climbed the stairs together. Sherlock had his eyes forward, matching his footfalls with John's leisurely pace. With every step John's dog-tags would bounce against his chest, landing over his heart with a small metallic clink. Sherlock struggled to concentrate on anything else. 

John on the other hand, was fairly certain that several of the Dominants bellow were watching them ascend the stairs, assessing the new-comers amongst themselves. He tried really hard not to smirk at the attention they were getting. Sherlock always managed to stun people with his unique appearance (it's those bloody cheekbones), charming his way through suspects, victims and witnesses alike. And now John, looking bloody dashing and down right irresistible in his suit, appeared to have caught this demigod for himself to the eyes of those around him. Caught him and made him submit. Needless to say, John was rightly smug. 

They reached the top of the black marble stairs (the owner must have emptied a quarry) to find a very attractive blonde man in his late 30's smiling brightly at John, eyes only briefly flicking over Sherlock. Their client, Master Carlisle. 

"Mr. Watson, I'm so glad you could make it." The man extended his hand and John shook it warmly, smiling at their client. 

"John, please."

"Of course. Sit, sit, we've much to talk about before you go down and 'mingle'." Master Carlisle led them deeper into the balcony, ushering that John sit on the black leather couch encasing the outer walls and railings of the over-peering level. 

Master Carlisle took his seat first, arms reaching back to brace against the extravagant purple, red, and black pillows. John sat to his left, back against the wall so he could over look the club below, not wanting to present his back in unknown territory. 

"My, you really are every bit the military man Sherlock said you are." His eyes shone with teasing mirth, watching as John gave Sherlock a couple of pillows to kneel on the floor beside his legs, the detective placing their bag of toys an arms reach away. Master Carlisle caught the gleam of metal that shone through Sherlock's shirt and his smile both softened and became more quirked. "Nice touch with the dog-tags, you two are sure to cause quite the stir in the next coming weeks."

At the mention of the dog-tags, Sherlock had to squeeze his hands into fists to refrain from clutching the thin metal between his fingers. He looked up from the floor and looked pointedly at their client. "Yes, about the case. I noticed from your notes that you weren't solely in a monog..."

Master Carlisle shot Sherlock a scathing look, the ferocity of it only intensified by his kind smile. "I understand that this 'case' comes first, Mr. Holmes, especially seeing as one of my own underlings has fallen into this monsters hands," His scathing look turned to pure ice as his eyes narrowed dangerously, smile falling away. "But do not force Mr. Watson here into disciplining you due to your lack of respect. You are under my roof now, so you will play by my rules. Your brother had informed me that if anybody could find this hideous creature, it would be you, and you’d do it in the most efficient way possible."

"But the case..." Sherlock's words were cut off as John delicately fisted his fingers in his dark curls, pulling tight enough to direct Sherlock's gaze at John's leg and away from their client. 

Sherlock couldn't see Master Carlisle any more, but he heard the man's almost pleasant tones. "A wolf is more likely to blend in with the sheep if he dons wool. The killer is using such techniques, is he not? You will find this monster more quickly if you abide by the house rules. I suggest that whilst it is alright for you to look around, you keep your opinions to yourself, unless Mr. Watson says otherwise. And you most certainly, do not, meet another Dom's gaze."

"My apologies, Master Carlisle." Once Sherlock's head was still, nearly leaning on his thigh, John loosened his grip but left his fingers tangled in the curls. "He does tend to keep his disguises in place for the most part; you'll have to forgive me for his blunder. I assure you it won't happen again."

Master Carlisle's entire demeanour changed as he addressed John, his tone genuinely light and sociable again instead of the forced pleasantries he had used for Sherlock. "I'm afraid that given the current circumstances no blame can be placed on you, John. But for future references I'd suggest attaching an accessory to the boy to... distract him when his disguise falls."

"I'll take that into consideration. Thank you for your advice."

"Anything to get this monster out of my home." Master Carlisle's eyes glazed over with sorrow before putting an emotional wall back in place. "I've given Sherlock everything I know about this... case, but should you two require anything more, please feel free to visit me when the club is closed." 

"Thank you." John smiled politely at the man before removing his fingers from Sherlock's curls.

"Let me take you down to the ‘Ground Level’ and introduce you to some of the other members." Master Carlisle stood and quickly dug into his pants pocket. "Oh, and before I forget, here is your membership card. It will give you access to not only all three levels but to the smaller private viewing rooms as well. Although, personally, I’d suggest acquainting yourself thoroughly with the ‘Ground Level’ and ‘Play Room’ before going anywhere near ‘Purgatory’. You know, accustom yourselves with the lifestyle before playing in the big leagues."

John took the card and placed it inside his suit jacket pocket. "Thank you for your advice." John was thanking this man an awful lot. He held out his right arm without looking and was pleased to find Sherlock already at his side, head down and waiting, duffle bag in his hands. 

"There's hope for him yet." Master Carlisle chucked as he began descending the stairs. "This way boys, I've got some very interesting people for you to meet."

\----------------

Master Carlisle wasn't kidding about interesting people to meet. John was introduced to lawyers, bank CEO's, government officials, engineers, and even a primary school teacher. Every time they stopped to talk to somebody new, Sherlock would gracefully kneel beside him and examine the room without meeting anybodies eyes, Master Carlisle's warning still fresh in his mind. A few Doms/Dommes asked John why his sub didn't have his eyes on the floor and John would always smile, placing a hand on top of Sherlock's head. "This is our first time out in public and I wanted him to take everything in. You know, see if he spots something he likes that we can try later." They all bought the lies hook, line and sinker and went back to chatting soon after. 

John was asked more than once about the lack of collar on Sherlock. He'd simply rest his fingers on the back of Sherlock's nape and pull up his dog-tags to show his ownership. He would then be queried about his time serving in the army and some women would look between John and Sherlock like they were the cutest thing since sparrows having a dust bath. Although the first time John had lifted the thin yet study chain to show his 'ownership', Sherlock's hands had come up to clutch desperately at the dog-tags, looking up at John in horror. "Isn't that precious,” One of the Domme's had commented. “He thinks they're being taken away." John had given Sherlock a reassuring smile and released the chain to rub soothingly into the kneeling man's nape. Sherlock's eyes immediately turned back out into the crowd, though he didn't let go of the dog-tags until they had moved on to talk to somebody else. 

Once they had been introduced to a very good portion of the room Master Carlisle led them to an elevator on the far side of the room. "Time to go to the ‘Play Room’ I think. Give you a glance of some real fun."

The elevator they were ushered into was quite large and done to look old and vintage from its buttons to the arrow above the door indicating the floor it was on. The entire upper half of the interior of the elevator had mirror walls, reflections casting off each other and making the boxed in room look much bigger than it actually was. Master Carlisle took them up a floor. 

The 'Play Room' was decorated very much the same as the 'Ground Level'. Black marble floors with matching pillars and the black leather couches that surrounded them. The ceilings were still very high but slightly lower then the room they hard previously been in. Small alcoves lined the walls, the dips surrounded in yet more black leather couches with several different restraint items centred in front of the couches. The only one John could figure out was the stocks, a submissive woman currently occupying one as her Dom flogged her thighs and ass. Four doors were spaced out along the western wall, John presuming that that was where the private rooms were that Master Carlisle had mentioned. 

John looked around the rest of the room to note that a lot of other couples were currently engaged in one form of sex or another. He listed off the positions he knew and made mental notes to try out the ones he didn't with his next date. He roughly counted around sixty people in the large room that he could see and was a little perplexed that so many people in London were extremely kinky.

Master Carlisle led them over to the back of the room and sat John down directly in front of the main stage. "I've got other business to attend to. But the boy has my number should you require my assistance. Good luck." Without waiting for a reply Master Carlisle left for the elevator and disappeared back to the ‘Ground Level’. 

\-------------

The stage in front if them was circular and currently empty, ensuring that anybody could watch what was happening on it from anywhere in the room. John sat down and reclined back into the unbelievably comfortable black leather. He was going to have to invest in a new chair. 

Sherlock made to kneel beside John's right leg, but was slightly startled when John pulled him to kneel between his legs, back against the couch and over looking the crowd. Sherlock placed the duffle bag on the couch to the left of John. Once he was seated John leant forward, arms sliding under Sherlock's pits to encase the man's chest, holding him snug.

Sherlock's breathing became quick and shallow, his heart rate picking up. He wasn't used to people touching him, especially not as intimately as this. He had given sex a go in university but found the whole ordeal to be boring and repetitive, so given up any form of physical intimacy beyond pecking Mrs. Hudson on the cheek. As he looked out into the crowd he recognized a few people from out on the ‘Ground Level’ and had to look down, away from the looks they were giving him. It was distracting enough that people were actively engaging in forms of intercourse around him, but to have the addition of others focusing on him was just too much. They were looking at John and him like they were some super old couple holding hands and going out for lunch: they were looking at John and Sherlock like they were cute. But underneath their cutesy stares he saw the want in their eyes. They wanted to witness John being intimate with Sherlock, to have Sherlock please John in any way John wished. From the cant of the tall brunette male Dom standing 13.5 feet to their North East and the way he fisted his submissive auburn woman's hair, that man wanted to watch John fuck Sherlock's mouth. And the submissive woman with short black hair that was bouncing on her masters erection wanted to watch Sherlock bounce in time with her on John's erection, the way she licked her lips suggested that she wanted to kiss Sherlock whilst their Master's fucked them like animals. And the short bald man 10.3 feet to their North...

Sherlock's mind immediately halted in its deductions when he felt John press a light kiss to his temple. He had to swallow a whimper at the sudden kiss and dropped his gaze to his folded legs before him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut as John began speaking in a hushed tone directly in his ear, lips occasionally grazing the curving cartilage. 

"You alright, you seem a bit distracted?" Johns fingers settled to tracing the raised ridges of his dog-tags against Sherlock's pale chest and slightly flinched with surprise when Sherlock's hands came up to clutch desperately around his own. "Love, what's the matter?"

Sherlock did whimper that time at the pet name and turned to bury his head in John's throat, his voice quiet as he spoke quickly. "I underestimated the effects that being exposed to so much... physical intimacy, would affect me so greatly. I have experienced carnal relations before but it was for purely experimental reasons and once I deemed myself above such carnality I have not had to expose myself to such situations. I thought my basic knowledge and a few hours spent watching pornography on your laptop-"

"You watched what on my laptop?!"

"-would provide me with adequate knowledge to pursue this case, but… but I was wrong, John. There is just too much carnal data going on around for me to focus on anything that might point out the killer. Instead of deducing traits that could help us in the case I can only see what turns people on and why they are in this club in the first place and I... I don't know what to do, John. I don't..." Sherlock was silenced with quiet shushing noises from John. 

John pried his left hand out of Sherlock's and smoothed rampant curls away from his forehead repeatedly, slowly soothing Sherlock's churning mind. "It's alright, love, it's alright. The problem is you're trying to take everything in at once and being overwhelmed by information you thought you would never have to consider let alone store." John looked up and saw that they had the attention of quite a few of the other members of the club. Placing another kiss on Sherlock's temple (which should feel a lot more weird than it currently did, John put that up to the fact that he was playing a role for a case) then slowly turned Sherlock's head to face the ‘Play Room’. "I want you to focus on one couple at a time and tell me whether they could be our suspect or not. If you are going to make your deductions out loud, keep them quiet. Start with the couple closest to us on our left and remember to not make direct eye contact with anybody."

Sherlock turned his head obediently to observe the couple next to them. "No." He almost spat the words out. The two women next to them had only just joined the 'scene' recently by the way that all the equipment the submissive woman wore was brand new and the red leather corset the Domme wore was still stiff with disuse. Neither of these women held the air nor the mannerisms of somebody who could lure another away to their death. 

"Ok. How about those two there?" John pointed to a woman currently giving a man a blow job and Sherlock flushed at the sight of the end of a vibrator emerging between her widely parted thighs. "... No." The male Dom was overweight and only here to have sex with young women with father complexes. Said woman on her knees moaned loudly as she begged "Daddy" for his cum. Sherlock felt John shudder slightly with dislike behind him and he turned without Johns prompt to the next couple. 

One by one Sherlock picked his way through the crowd and each time he gave a resounding "No." Two people presented a "Possible, but highly unlikely." John committed their faces to memory, noting to keep an eye on them for the next time they came to 'Controversial'.

"It is possible that the suspect isn't here tonight. Either that or he takes on his roles seriously enough to transform his whole body language to the point where an expert can't tell him apart from one kinky sod to the next." John commented.

"It is possible, Sir."

John frowned down slightly at Sherlock for calling him Sir after having used his actual name several times before considering their current modest privacy. When he saw a man in his mid twenties happily stroll up to them with an even younger man crawling behind him. John quickly built his army captain persona back up, straightening his spine a bit, with muscles tense as he eyed the young man. His pressed the pads of his fingers against Sherlock with a little more pressure, protective instincts taking hold. 

"Hi, my name is Tony."

John tipped his head politely as his arms tightened around Sherlock, caving the detective in from these strangers. "John." he returned. 

Tony's eyes raked greedily over Sherlock, finally settling over Sherlock's bare throat. "Don't tell me that you haven't collared a pretty wee thing like that." It wasn't a question, merely a toying statement. 

John used both of his hands to gently part Sherlock's fingers to reveal the dog-tags. Once Sherlock felt that this 'Tony' had oggled the thin metal up enough he closed his hands to hide it away again. 

"Bit of a shy one. aye?" Tony sat on the other end of the couch, his body turning to face John and Sherlock as the other man's submissive crawled to kneel at his side, placing his head on Tony's thigh. 

"Just in public." John answered. Sherlock scoffed making John smirk. 

"And military, very impressive. Don't suppose you get him to call you 'Captain' or 'Sergeant' now, do you?"

John laughed slightly. "God no. 'Sir' is more than adequate."

"I get my little Ethan to call me 'Master'. Isn't that right, my gorgeous slut?"

"Yes, Master." Ethan spoke. His head was down looking at Tony's boots, but as Tony shifted to sit with his back against the back of the couch, Ethan moved quickly between his parted legs, rubbing his palms over Tony's now obvious once revealed, clothed erection. 

"Such a good little cock slut, doesn't even need verbal orders anymore." Tony murmured appreciatively, running his fingers through Ethan's shoulder length mousy brown hair. Ethan thrived under the praise and went to work on undoing his Master’s belt and trousers. "You don't mind do you?" Tony pointed down to Ethan eagerly digging inside his trousers and pulling out his near completely hard dick. "It's just been such a long day..."

"By all means." John smiled at Tony before turning his attention toward Sherlock. He really wasn't keen on watching a stranger get head right beside him now if he could avoid it whilst still being in character. John leant down and whispered into the ear that was the furthest from their imposing guests. "Are you alright? If this is making you too uncomfortable then we can move, or leave, whatever makes you..."

"I'm fine, Sir." Sherlock whispered back, just loud enough for Tony (who was very clearly eavesdropping) to hear. 

Tony moaned low when Ethan's lips finally sealed around the head of his cock, hands coming up to aid his Master into full hardness. Tony turned his head to see Sherlock watching Ethan's mouth sliding up and down. "Your pet looks a bit lonely." 

"Just the first time he's seen another couple give head up close and personal." John looked down Sherlock's body and wasn't surprised to find the crotch of his tight leather pants bulging slightly. Hell, John was feeling twinges of arousal from the obscene slurping noises Ethan was making. 

"And does he like to watch?" Tony looked right at Sherlock's crotch, clearly pointing out that he already knew the answer. 

"Why don't you climb up here and show this nice young man just how much you like to watch."

It was an order, and Sherlock only hesitated briefly before complying. He waited for John to shift back in his seat before sitting between his open thighs, back resting against John's chest. 

Their height difference meant that Sherlock had to slouch slightly for John to see comfortably over his shoulder and down Sherlock's body. As John's hands moved to frame his crotch Sherlock let his head fall back against John's bad shoulder, careful about the amount of weight he placed there. John noticed his efforts and rewarded him with a kiss to his temple, mouthing the words 'thank you' into his skin for only Sherlock to know. 

Only barely remembering the order, Sherlock moved his hands clumsily over the thin cord that laced the front of his pants together. After his third failed attempt to find the ends of the cords to undo the intricate knot he had made, John’s hands covered his own.

"Slowly now, love. Just breathe, and concentrate. It's not a race." John could practically feel Sherlock's scowl at that last comment as John moved his hands back to framing Sherlock's crotch. He briefly thought about how he should be freaking out about having his hands so close to Sherlock's junk, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins from their current predicament put a stop to that quite quickly. His inner junkie was telling him to chase down whatever was causing his sudden adrenaline spike lake a rabid dog. Especially if said cause was god-like in both appearance and brains. 

Sherlock took two, deep, calming breaths, before resuming undoing the fancy knot he had made earlier on. Untangling the cords with his head back, blind, was only a little bit tricky now that he had calmed down a bit, focussing his gaze on the intricate patterns carved into the ceiling.

In all fairness though, Sherlock had been trying to show off a bit by tying the extremely long cords that made up his fly to impress anybody that bothered with the small details. He had tied it using several traditional ancient Chinese methods that led to an intricate chrysanthemum acting as a flashy belt. The intricate knot highlighted how expensive the tight leather encasing his legs was. He had dove into the finer details of both his and John's clothing, making sure that they would be burned into the memory of everybody at the club. He hadn't told John yet, but after they had visited the club several times he planned on putting out a private ad within the club to hopefully draw the killer to them. So the details in appearing beyond well off were incredibly important to appear to the inner con-artist of the killer. After he had ordered in John's suit from a trusted private tailor that did NOT ever do business with Mycroft, Sherlock had shopped for himself. He had bought several leather pants in varying colours and styles and bought a regular dress shirt that was a size larger than Johns shirt-size to give the appearance to not only making him look younger, but like he had been told to go change into something appropriate for the evening and wanted something of his Master's to wear. What John didn't know is that Sherlock had ordered five additional suits, of varying colours and styles, to the one the doctor was wearing now. The tailor he had hired for this work didn't place his label on his finely made suits, saying that labels meant mass-production, and all his suits were one of a kind. Which meant that the suits were priced just to match, but what Mycroft's credit card doesn't know, won't hurt him. He'd purchase more suits as they needed them. After all, the Bank of Mycroft never ran out. 

John watched him intently as he began undoing all of the 'petals' one by one, whispering praises into Sherlock's right ear. "You did this all by yourself? I mean, I knew you were clever, but Jesus Sh-baby, this is amazing. When did you learn to tie knots like this? Was it after the... Chinese circus came to town? Or is this just another one of those amazing talents you have? I bet you were a boy scout at one point, something your parents sent you to hoping that it might teach you to interact with others in a more friendly, sociable context. Learnt how to tie all of the basic knots then decided you'd just outshine every other kid and shame the scout leader with knots that look more like art than something meant to secure things together. Fuck, why didn't I notice this before? Tell me, babe, why didn't I notice this earlier tonight?"

Sherlock was nearly done with the complex and intricate knot when John asked him a question. After the litany of somehow partially correct deductions (his family had sent him to boy scouts hoping to teach him a bit of discipline, they'd given up on him being social-for-socials-sake long ago. He’d been forced to leave after only a month anyway, the other boys bullying to the point were his parents pulled him out for his own safety.) and all the praise, Sherlock's head was a bit giddy. He swallowed heavily before answering. "Because you were trying to keep your gaze notably away from both my reproductive organs and my behind, Sir." The knot finally came completely undone and Sherlock sagged against John. Mission complete. 

John just chuckled and slid his hands down slightly to squeeze the insides of Sherlock's thighs, smirking triumphantly at the squeak he got. Note To Self: Tease Sherlock later on about his very unmanly squeak when he’s being an utter twat. 

"Got a bit of a mouth on him, now, don't he?" Tony spoke up; biting his bottom lip as Ethan did something particularly wicked with his tongue. 

John turned his head away from eyeing Sherlock's now undone leather pants to look at Tony. The man's cheeks were flushed with arousal, his pupils dilated and his breathing come in quick pants. "Oh you've no idea. When he gets a bit too mouthy I have to gag him."

"Oh~..." Tony groaned, hands going down to fist Ethan's hair painfully. "I bet those pretty, plump lips look delightful wrapped around a gag."

"Among other things." John mused and Tony laughed breathily. "Yours doesn't seem to be doing to bad." John finally looked down to Tony's cock being sucked enthusiastically by Ethan. And as good as Ethan was at sucking dick, the sight of two men engaging in such a way deflated the small spark of arousal that had been stirring quietly within him. It was one thing to hear Ethan having at it and becoming a tad turned on, but another entirely to actually see it. His heterosexuality seemed to still be firmly intact. Good. 

"He just loves cock, my little slutty Ethan. Can suck me off for hours without one word of complaint. I'm planning on letting him suck me off until his lips go numb tonight." Tony lifted the ends of his dress shirt and suit jacket up to show a black leather band wrapped snugly around the base of his cock and balls. 

"If he's going to be on his knees that long should he have a cushion?" John asked. Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle slightly at John's inner doctor coming out for the second time tonight. His chuckling ended with a gasp when John gave him a sound smack on his outer right thigh. 

"Don't worry, Sergeant, my precious Ethan only has to ask if he wants something. That and he's a bit of a pain slut, gets off on bringing me pleasure at his discomfort. Amazing, isn't he." Again, it wasn't a question, merely a statement. Tony was proving to be very self assured about himself and his capabilities as a Dom, even at his young age. John and Sherlock just saw him as cocky. Sherlock would even go so far to say that Ethan was topping from the bottom, working Tony in a submissive way to get what he wanted. Frowning at the sub for half a second, Sherlock made a mental note to investigate Ethan more and to tell John this later, Ethan showing potential in becoming a suspect. 

"How long have you two been together?" John asks, hands running up and down Sherlock's thighs as far as his arms will let him reach, which is about mid-thigh. 

"Physically; Three weeks and five days." Tony claimed proudly. "But we had been talking online first for over two months. Couldn't believe my luck when I found out my perfect little Ethan lived in the same city as me." Tony pulled Ethan off of his cock to engulf him in a possessive, domineering kiss. He had reduced Ethan to breathy pants and whimpers before smirking and pushing the younger man back down towards his cock, smiling triumphantly when Ethan swallowed him whole with twice as much enthusiasm. "It was a bit rocky the first week of meeting though, you know? We had talked about and covered all of our kinks and limits, and seemed to match up perfectly. We sorted through our schedules and managed to come up with something that would suit both of our needs. Most of our time together is spent here though, my little cock slut just loves showing off in public." Tony ruffled Ethan's hair like one would a dog. 

"Mm, I know all about subs loving to show off." John mused, laughing at the eye roll he caught from the man leaning against him.

“And how did you two end up in the scene?” Ethan leant back, propping his head up with his left hand, arm resting along the top of the couch. His eyes were half-mast and regarding the possessive way John was holding Sherlock with a small smirk.

“Well, we were flatmates first.” John let go of Sherlock’s thigh with one hand and scrubbed it over his face as he though about how he was going to go about this lie. The best lies were the ones based on half-truths, so he’s do just that: lie with the truth. “Then after the first day we were life-long friends, which turned into best friends. Then that led to us becoming partners. After that, we kind of just stumbled into the hot and heavy and here we are.”

“Forgive me for asking, but why does a very successful private doctor need to look for a flatmate?” Tony asked, genuine curiosity falling about him.

John could feel Sherlock tense slightly at somebody asking about the lie John had made. John just smiled at Tony and kissed the side of Sherlock’s head in an attempt to tell him I can lie just as good as you, thank you very much as best as he could without words. “After coming back from the war I spent several months on my own before deciding that I neither liked being on my own nor living in large living quarters. I went out looking for a flat share and was lucky enough to find one with this gorgeous man right here.” John let his hands trail up from Sherlock’s thighs to wrap around his thin waist and pull him tight to John’s body.

“That’s horribly adorable.” Tony smiled, hand drifting down to pet Ethan’s bobbing head.

“So we’ve been told.” John smiled, smirking at Sherlock's grunt of not only being called gorgeous but adorable too.

“I imagine the lines between your regular relationship and this,” Tony made a sweeping motion with the hand that was on Ethan’s head out to the club, “Is a hard one to balance and blur often.”

“You’d think so.” John laughed. “But this sod doesn’t listen to or do anything I say unless we’ve clearly established a scene. If anything, I’m the one running around after him when it’s just us at home. But he’s a bit of a show off, so we decided it was about time I took him somewhere I cold show him off.”

Ethan hummed a not of approval, gaze lazily trailing down Sherlock’s long body.

"And speaking of showing off, why don't you show Tony here how much you love watching and being watched in turn." 

John was very good at giving orders, Sherlock decided. The army turned out to be more and more helpful with providing such useful training to assist Sherlock on his cases. He pulled back the tongue of leather that had protected his sensitive skin from the coarse rope. He was extremely miffed at himself for have letting the activities around, beside, and the praises before hand, have had affected him so much. Sherlock slowly pulled his erection from the tight safety of his leather pants and let it rest against his stomach, hands falling either side to rest on John's thighs. 

"Not bad." Tony mused aloud, eyeing Sherlock up like walking meat. "An inch and a half above average with a curve that was made to fuck tight assholes and slam into prostates. It'd be a near dead hit every time with that cock."

It seemed talking about another man's penis had upset Ethan greatly. The sub came off of Tony's cock with a wet 'pop' before taking the entire length whole and swallowing around the intrusion repeatedly, hands coming up to massage the base of his Master's cock and gently roll Tony's tight sack through the material of his trousers, using just a hint of teeth to make sure his Master’s attention was focused solely on him. Tony chocked out several moans and curses before yanking Ethan up roughly by the hair and turning the young man around. He pushed Ethan down between his shoulder blades until his chest was flat against the cold marble floor, his ass raised into the air.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, my little slut. Especially when it's not even justified." It would appear that this wasn't the first time Ethan had gotten jealous and done something about it. Tony reached into the top of Ethan's vinyl pants and unclasped several snaps, pulling what was a hidden back panel down to expose his subs ass. A large purple base of what could only be an almighty butt plug was settled between Ethan's tanned cheeks. "I'm a man of monogamy, my Ethan, and you know this yet you continue to be jealous the moment I compliment another sub... or Dom for that matter as well. And I've warned you so many times about what happens to jealous bitches, so what do you say?" Ethan had pulled out a matching purple remote from his pocket during his reprimanding speech. 

"I'm sorry, Master. I'm sorry I was jealous, especially when I have no right to be. You’re a very good and generous Master and I should know by now that when you put your collar on my neck it meant that I was yours and you mine. I'm sorry, Master!" The last apology came out a tad choked; as if Ethan was fighting back crying. 

"Very good, Ethan, very good." Tony ran his hand up and down Ethan's uncovered back several times to calm the boy before leering manically. "But you still deserve a punishment, don't you agree." The tone of his voice was nothing but an order, and Tony hummed appreciatively when he pressed against the base of the plug and Ethan cried out in surprise. "I asked you a question, pet."

"Yes, Master!" Ethan cried out again as Tony pressed once more against the plug. "I deserve to be punished for my misplaced jealousy!"

"Good boy." Tony smiled sweetly at Ethan as he hit the first button of six on the small purple remote. Ethan moaned and shivered, his spine bowing downwards, pushing his ass higher into the air. "See, such a slut. Every 10 minutes I'll raise things up to the next setting. You'll remain in that position for an hour and God help me if you even thinking of coming." Ethan remained in that position as Tony tucked himself back into his pants. "He's usually such a good boy, but there's always something with everyone." He smiled brightly as his gaze fixed back on Sherlock's cock. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe I was going to show you how much my sub loved being watched." John smiled at Tony before moving to whisper into Sherlock's ear. "If you this is too much for you just say the word and we're gone."

Sherlock's reply was to wrap his right hand around his erection. "I'm fine, Sir." With his head back, resting on John's shoulder, the words came out a low rumbling mumble. 

John positioned his head to look like he was staring down Sherlock's body and watching that pale hand slowly stroke up and down a flushed pink arousal, but as committed to this role as he was, he couldn't quite look at his best mates cock dead on. So instead, he decided to stare at the gap just beyond Sherlock's crotch and examine the tight lacings of the detective's leather converse sneakers. "A bit faster." He ordered. The sooner Sherlock got off the sooner John could excuse them from Tony's presence and go home to go over everything they had learnt in the club tonight. Which meant that John was going to have to give a few orders and probably help Sherlock out a bit to make sure they looked like a proper kinky couple. 

Dammit. 

John resigned to his fate and got a proper look at Sherlock's prick. 

Tony was right, it did have a curve to it. Nothing ridiculous, just a slight tilt up towards his stomach. The foreskin had been pulled back under the head which was slick with precum. John couldn't see down any further than the base of Sherlock's cock thanks to the tight leather pants and he couldn't tell if he was relieved or annoyed by that fact. The dark thatch of hair that lead a small trail from Sherlock's belly button to the base of his cock had been groomed, nothing longer than an inch.

John raised his left hand and ran it through the thickest part of the short hair, scratching at the skin beneath. The tops of his fingers grazed across Sherlock’s still fist and the touch seemed far more intimate than having his best friend jack off in his lap.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten in a pleasant way. He pressed his body back into John’s more, turning his head into the doctor’s neck. 

Hot, moist breath fanned out over John's throat, his right hand coming up from Sherlock's thigh to join his left at his crotch. He could feel Sherlock's muscles tensing beneath his palms, the breaths against his skin coming quicker and sharper. Sherlock's hand began to move along his length and the moment he saw a fat drop of precum well up from Sherlock's slit, John's heterosexuality was doomed. Well, doomed in the sense of Sherlock Holmes, not in the sense of all men in general.

"Put your hands on my thighs, love." John ordered. Sherlock was quick to comply, his left already there so fisting the material or John’s trousers as his right let go of his erection and moved to John's thigh. "Ah ah ah." John scolded, gently prying Sherlock's fingers from his trousers. "Don't want to ruin my suit now, do we?"

"Sorry, J-Sir." Sherlock cursed his mind for being so easily distracted the moment his transport was being manipulated with pleasure. But now that he had noticed the fault it wouldn't happen again. Hopefully. He had a role to play and if even John could manage to stay in character then so could he. Sherlock relaxed his fingers and smoothed the material of John's trousers out. 

"Good boy." John praised, noticing the change in Sherlock's body posture that signalled he was trying to gain composure of his body and run-away-libido. He quickly calculated that it had been roughly ten years since somebody else had touched Sherlock's body intimately since the man had been at university. John figured that Sherlock had to have had masturbated at some point since finishing uni, he was a man after all. But he wouldn’t have masturbated much, because even if he was a man, he was still Sherlock Holmes above all else.

Which meant that Sherlock's body would be very sensitive. 

John kept up with running his fingers through the coarse hair at Sherlock's groin, smirking every time the detective's member twitched with anticipation. A quick glance up showed that they had several couples’ attention. Ok, more than several couples; so with their sudden audience John steeled any nerves he had and put on his best army captain front. 

"You've attracted quite the audience with this cock of yours, love. Raise your head so you can see how many people are watching." John knew that the order would not be welcomed. Sherlock had expressed how much too much sexual data overwhelmed his mind earlier, but they had gleaned all the data they could tonight and it was only fair that John overwhelm Sherlock a bit for all of the human body parts in their fridge. He still hadn't forgiven the man for the human head. And they did say payback was a bitch. "Look up, babe."

Sherlock huffed a tone of annoyance at John but looked up all the same. Eight couples had their attention completely focused on what John was doing to Sherlock, an extra three couples only half paying attention due to the fact that they were otherwise preoccupied in their own activities. He didn't like it. He didn't like that 22 people could currently see him exposed and his body succumbing to pleasure. It was wrong. Albeit, the heady thrum of the wrongness heightened his senses and he almost leaped out of his skin when John's right hand settled itself securely around the base of his cock. His eyes slid shut to block out the people watching so he could better focus on trying to calm his body down and stick to the role he was meant to be playing. 

"No." John scolded. Again. "Keep your eyes open. I want you to see everybody watching how even your body can succumb to carnal desires."

"And what will you do if I don't?" Sherlock tested. Biting out a quick and sarcastic, "Sir." for good measure.

"I won't hesitate to haul your ass up onto that stage there and flog you until you can't sit normally for a week. And I'm sure all your-" John paused so Sherlock could here the smirk in his voice. "-accounting colleagues will ask you why you can't sit still. And if you think you can get away with it by not sitting then I'll be a sure to take a day off from the practice and pinch your red and bruised ass hard enough to make you cry out. And I do so look forward to you trying to explain away those outbursts." John finished his little speech by squeezing Sherlock's cock until the detective gasped. "Now open, your, eyes."

Sherlock forced his eyes open and hated the looks people were giving him. Some Doms were happy that Sherlock had followed through with the order, others were displeased that he hadn't followed through quick enough, but nearly all of them wanted to see Sherlock on the stage with John flogging him from behind. The submissives that had been given permission to look were giving him mixed responses. They seemed to want to be in his place but with their own Masters attention on them in such a matter, showing them off to everybody. They also gave the impression that they were better than Sherlock, because if they had been given an order (even one they didn't like and their Master's knew that they didn't like it) they would have followed through with it straight away, no questions asked. But they didn't know John like Sherlock did. And even if they were both just playing parts for a case, Sherlock knew that if he was a good little sub who did everything his Master said, John would get bored. And by the pleased hum John gave when Sherlock finally opened his eyes, the pressure around the base of his dick receding to a more tolerable hold, he knew he had made the right choice in questioning John. 

"Good boy." John rewarded Sherlock with two slow but firm strokes before settling at the base of his cock once more. 

Sherlock pushed against that hand with his hips, letting John know that he wanted more. 

John just laughed. 

"I don't think so. You haven't been that good."

And Sherlock could see a couple of Doms nod in agreement with each other, what appeared to be a discussion of John's domination tactics passing their lips. Sherlock scowled at them for even thinking of doubting John and his methods. 

"If you want more," John saw that Sherlock was becoming too engrossed with their crowd and needed to keep his attention focused. But fuck if it wasn't hard work to keep a genius occupied. "You have to earn it."

"How?" Sherlock bit out snappily, still glaring at the Doms who were now talking about what a temperamental sub he was. Well excuse him for only joining the lifestyle today and not knowing all but the basic rules. 

"How what?" John smirked. 

"How can I get you to give me an orgasm?"

"Not the answer I was looking for, babe."

Sherlock heaved a great sigh. "How, Sir?"

"Much better." John hummed. "You can start by unbuttoning your shirt. Give everybody an eyeful of that long, lean body."

"Yes, Sir." Sherlock followed through with the order quickly, having to restrain himself from yelling at those stupid conversing Doms. Sherlock could be good when he wanted, and he would prove it.

The moment his dress shirt fell apart John moved his hands away from his crotch and ran them repetitively up and down Sherlock's body. "Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. And you know it too, don't you, you bastard." John's fingers circled around his nipples before flicking them lightly, making Sherlock hiss in air. "Tell everybody why I haven't got a collar around your neck, and I'll go back to stroking your cock." John resumed running his hands up and down Sherlock's abdomen, following the dips and contours of his muscles. 

"But you have collared me." Sherlock stated, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. He brought his right hand up, his fingers curling around the dog-tags, metal warm with his body heat. 

John laughed. "I meant tell them why you have my credentials instead of an actual collar. And don't skip on the details."

Now Sherlock was really confused. John was asking him a question that Sherlock could answer easily (John didn't want a collar around his neck in case they had to run after the killer and his breathing/health/survival should be compromised due to the restrictions of said collar), but he couldn't tell the occupants of the club that. So John was wanting him to give and answer that was half-truth and half-lie but add details that he hadn't previously prompted to do what? Make them appear like a closer couple? Give in-site to those around them about their made-up personal lives? Show others that it went beyond whips and chains between them? Stop the continuous questions of why Sherlock wasn’t collared? Probably a combination of the four, plus more. But this was extremely personal, even if it was all fake. And 'issues' and 'problems' could arise between himself and John should the half-truths he incorporates into his answer prove to hit a little too close to home. Sherlock swallowed, fixed his eyes on the dog-tags against his chest, and answered. 

"Whilst the thought of having something so obvious and cliché as a collar around my throat to symbolize your ownership of me mildly pleases you, the doctor portion of you detests it. There are too many variables consistent with a collar. If it is too tight it can restrict blood and air flow causing in a multitude of medical problems. If it is too loose it looses the impact that wearing a collar holds and can be easily ignored by the submissive instead of being aware of the constant ownership of their person. And even though a correct fitting of a collar is easily obtained, you still detest it for some reason. A small portion of it is the looming medical complications, still room for a lot of error, but what is really comes down to is the lack of personalization. Sure, a collar can be made specifically to my measurements by the finest of craftsmen, or you could even make the collar yourself, but it still holds very little sentimental value in your eyes. It would be something that has been purchased, or even made, by you for me to wear. You would have very little to do with owing the collar besides from the receipt you'd keep should damage come to it." Sherlock eyed up the two subs kneeling at the previously conversing Doms feet. One of their collars was made for them the other high-quality, but store bought. He smirked at the lack of originality of ownership as his next words came proudly from his lips. "So that leaves you with wanting to put something around my neck that has and adequate level of sentimentality to you that would make you proud to see around my neck, and me proud to wear it. Only one thing came to mind: your army credentials. You wore them throughout your tour in Afghanistan, they were around your neck when you got shot, on your person when you came back to England, and you kept them hidden safely away when you resumed civilian life. They are pretty much saturated with sentimentality. So when wanting to put something of yours around my neck to proclaim ownerships your army credentials were your first and only choice. They show that not only were you brave and talented enough as a doctor to go to war, but brave enough to try and claim somebody who others had thought impossible to tame as your own."

The club was silent around them. A panic started to grow within Sherlock as his last statement sunk home. That, was a tad personal. And very possibly a bit not good. 

"Good. Very good. Very, very good." John kissed Sherlock's temple three times and watched the man preen from the praise. "A bit long winded, but good nonetheless." He laughed at Sherlock's scowl and moved his right hand to cover Sherlock’s (the one still clutched tight around his dog-tags), his left hand sinking down to begin stroking his somehow still present erection. It seems that when the context was right, Sherlock could get off on his deductions, even if they were fake. "But what can I expect from a man who just loves being the centre of attention? And by no means are you tame. Doubt you ever will be." John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and down his body, watching his hand work the detective. 

"Like you'd be interested in somebody tame, Sir." Sherlock bucked into John's fist, letting a moan fill the air above him as John did something awfully wicked with his foreskin. Sherlock didn't masturbate often, only when ignoring erections and cold showers no longer became an option. But when he did it was just the very basic up and down motions to quickly seek an orgasm so he could carry on with more important things. So all these little teasing motions were a jolt to his system, his body unable to do anything but twitch and clench down on the new sensations.

Small, low moans were John's reward for his efforts. He pulled Sherlock’s foreskin up again and massaged it into the man's cockhead with his fingertips, moving carefully as Sherlock bucked up into the action. He pulled the foreskin back down slowly and used his fingertip to rub the precum that had gathered into the slit. Sherlock tensed violently at that and John knew it wouldn't be long till the man would orgasm. A sharp cry of pleasure came from beside them and John looked to see that Tony had turned up the setting of the plug, increasing the vibrations within Ethan. Had it been ten minutes already?

John pulled his hand away and presented his palm in front of Sherlock's mouth. "Lick." He gave the simple order and watched as Sherlock eagerly complied, efficiently covering his palm with saliva. And when John applied his now slick hand back to Sherlock's cock to pump him to completion, Sherlock threw his head back and pumped his hips furiously into John's fist. John heard his name moaned aloud like a mantra, Sherlock obviously very close but needing something extra to send him over pleasures edge. 

John entwined their fingers together over his dog-tags, Sherlock’s moans of his name becoming more needy as he growl-whispered into his best friend's ear, "Come for me, love. Show all these people who you belong to, who you'll play tame for."

Sherlock’s entire body tensed viciously as a near scream of John's name was ripped from his throat. His orgasm tore through him, occupying every atom of mind and body, leaving nothing untouched in its wake. He'd never felt such pleasure before and had no idea what to do, letting his instincts guide him through it as he rode John's fist like his life depended on it. He felt his semen splatter up his stomach, coating his belly with reproductive DNA. And John kept stroking until his pleasured moans took on a pained tone, quickly letting go off his oversensitive penis. John wiped up the mess on him stomach with Sherlock's dress shirt and waited for Sherlock's body to relax a bit before taking action. 

\---------

He heard John talking to somebody, gently working his fingers from Sherlock’s grasp, whispering into his hair that it was all going to be ok. That he was going to stay with Sherlock, but needed him to move his heavy ass forward so John could stand up. Through the haze of his mind Sherlock felt John tuck him back into his leather pants, pulling the thin cords together then tying them in a quick double bow to account for the length of the cords. Sherlock was then gently ushered into a room that was completely silent, the din of the club and thumping of the bass shut out entirely. He felt John place him carefully on a long, leather couch and told him off for being so gentle. He was a man, he knew how to sit on a couch and lie down on it without being coddled. But John just chuckled as he kept up with his soft words of encouragement. 

\------------

John was running on autopilot. Getting Sherlock into one of the private rooms was difficult and not because he had to practically carry the over grown man to the room, juggling the detective to get his membership card out to open the door. It was difficult because Sherlock would switch from grabby and needy, wanting to be under John's skin because it was 'the only way to get close enough'; to not wanting John to touch him at all, pushing away and trying to make a bolt for it. He'd go from repeating John's name over and over again to making a rather nasty deduction about whatever person they were passing. John kept his attention by whispering sweet nothings at him and trying to keep Sherlock calm when he attempted to claw himself free.

To those who asked if Sherlock was alright John gave a quick answer of, "He's a bit sensitive and never handles orgasms well. He'll be fine once I calm him down a bit, excuse me."

It was a bit easier once they were holed away in the private room. John gently asked Sherlock to lie down on the long, leather couch, and laughed when the detective snapped from needy to telling John off for coddling him. With a smile on his face and out of prying eyes and disguises, John prodded Sherlock into lying down and pulled the man's now dirty shirt off. Sherlock gave a shudder at being exposed to the air, but it wasn't cold in the room at all so John pinned it to lingering hypersensitivity. "Gave me quite the scare there the way you just switched off." John wasn't surprised that he didn't get an answer and instead received a litany of deductions about the room that they were in (all of which he cold have done without knowing), so moved to hunt for a flannel to wash away the sweat and cum from his flatmate.

\------------

John stepped away from Sherlock to find a flannel and was instantly pinned to the spot by long arms and fingers gripping at his arms. 

"Stay, John, you have to stay, I don't want you to go, you can't go, you can't leave me like this, my head, my brain, it's not working properly, and I don't know what to do, so you can't go, you can't, you just can't, you..."

"Sh sh shh." John pushed the curls away from Sherlock’s head in soothing strokes, other hand cupping the man's shoulder delicately. "It's alright, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to get a cloth to clean you up a bit." When Sherlock started to panic again that John was leaving him, even if only for a little while, John had to quickly calm his friend back down. "It's fine, I'm not going to leave you. You can turn your head and watch me as I get the flannel sorted, ok. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave you."

Sherlock reluctantly released John and watched him with hawk-eyes as the doctor went about finding a flannel in one of the cupboards and waited for the water to warm at the small basin provided. The moment John was in arms reach Sherlock clasped his hand around the doctor's thigh, frowning at the small laugh John gave him. 

"Are you always this clingy after an orgasm?" John joked lightly, although he'd be lying if he didn't want an honest answer. 

Having a question, one thing instead of many, to focus on did wonders for Sherlock's psyche. "I've never reacted to an orgasm like that before. Though I've been called 'cuddly' and 'very affectionate' after sexual intercourse before. It would seem that my body enjoys rebelling against my wishes where carnal desires are concerned."

"Meaning you deprive yourself from physical affections to the point that when you finally have them you crave it like crazy and turn into a clingy bastard." John snickered as he wiped across Sherlock's face first, cleaning away the sweat before moving on to his abdomen. 

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it clingy." 

"Says the man grabbing my thigh so hard I'm probably going to have a cramp there later on.” John laughed at the pout Sherlock gave him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a tad clingy every now and then. Although I’m going to have to find a way to avoid you freaking out after an orgasm. Or I’ll at least find something to occupy your mind enough immediately after that your mind stays focussed and doesn’t go running off like that.” John had cleaned Sherlock’s abdomen as well as one could without having a shower, and looked pointedly down at Sherlock’s crotch. “Do you wanna clean that or shall I?”

“Oh now you have problems touching my penis.” Sherlock snapped, letting go of John’s thigh with one hand to drape over his eyes, suddenly very light sensitive.

John, blessed John, saw Sherlock move his hand up to cover his eyes and gently got Sherlock to get go of his thigh with his remaining hand and stood to dim the lights as low as they would go. 

“I’ll turn the lights off fully once your cleaned up a bit more, then we’ll wait for you to… we’ll just wait until you’re ready to go and go home. You can decide once we’re back on Baker Street whether you want to go over what you found out tonight or wait to talk about it in the morning.”

Sherlock held his hand out for the flannel in response, John deciding he’d rinse the thing first before handing it over to the detective. Long fingers made quick work of John’s double bow, pulling the tongue of his leather pants back and sticking the flannel inside to clean whatever was left of his orgasm.

Once everything was as clean as it was going to be, Sherlock gave the cloth back to John who placed it in the stainless steel hamper sitting beside the sink. John then walked over and turned the light off, carefully moving his way back to the couch and sitting beside Sherlock’s head. 

It took all of six seconds for Sherlock to shuffle up and rest his head in John’s lap. “Just give me a few minutes to sort my head out, then we can go,”

“Take all the time you need, love.”

Sherlock pressed his face further into John’s thigh at the pet name, nuzzling the thick muscle as John played with his curls. A small sob worked its way to the surface, John soothing and shushing him quietly through the post-orgasm chaos that he had become.

A tan hand threaded itself with a pale one, moving the entwined fingers to grip around his dog-tags.

This case was not going to be an easy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh Slash Gods, that took any eon to edit. At some point I will draw out the floor plans to ‘Controversial’ so you can see what I’m seeing when you read it. Plus I suck balls at describing places because I get bored with actually writing out descriptions of places and throw in the towel. But I make no promises on a time frame for those floor plans.  
> I nearly cried when I saw that I had 18 un-edited pages to edit for this chapter. Now grammar and spelling aren’t my friends, and that case doesn’t help me much when I am super mega best friends with typos. So even when I edit my little heart out, I’m gunna miss something. And I get really lazy with my editing when I’ve already read something a thousand times over. But my rough copies are really rough; from the way the characters say things, to their actions, to the actual plot in general. And then trying to write characters who don’t have a canon sexual life together in a BDSM setting makes you want to cry as you try and make it as believable as possible. Which brings it to a whopping 21 pages once edited. So I hope you enjoyed my efforts!!!
> 
>  
> 
> If you liked this chapter then please KUDOS, and if you really liked it then please COMMENT!! And if you want sneak peaks of future chapters, other WIPs and the very occasional piece of fanart, then walk on over to my tumblr account: http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art


	3. Verbal Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **CHAPTER WARNINGS:** fingering, super prostate massage, slave speech, few hits with a riding crop, hand job, ummmm... I'm pretty sure that's it. A semi-sorta emotional stand still for Sherlock. Again, nothing too serious yet. The serious warnings will happen when the boys reach the 'Dungeon' which will hoefully be chapter 5 or 6... hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before anything is said, I want to you please thank GhostxWriter liberally for betaing this. Cause good lord, I'm hopeless with grammar. Like, super hopeless. So send some cross continent love Ghosts way, because if it wasn't for Ghost, you'd have been lost multiple time throughout this chapter, lol. THANKS GHOST!!! XOXOXOXOXOX
> 
> Kinky porn is hard enough to write without trying to work a plot into it, so this is why this chapter took so bloody long and is so _bloody long._ So I hope you enjoy this and aren’t deterred by its length like I was when I had to rough edit it *cries*. BUT OH! Time for you to learn through porn again!! Slave Speak and Slave Speech are actually officially called ‘slave Voice Training’. I found the file my Master sent me so I can put as much detail into Sherlock’s whole slave speak experience as I can. Do note though, its called SLAVE etc for a reason. These speech patterns were created to focus and ease the mind of a SLAVE/PET to that of solely pleasing his or her Master which in turn becomes their pleasure as well. And there are massive differences between a submissive and a slave/pet. I was going to link the file of slave Voice Training here because I used it thoroughly for referencing, but reading over it, it sounds seriously degrading. Reading that wasn’t for the feint of heart, honestly. So if you want to, **YOU** can go google and find the file, but I’m not gunna link it here because that shit can be triggering and just isn’t a nice read in the end. So if you read it and find it offensive, it ain’t my fault cause I warned you away from it entirely. You’ll learn plenty about slave speak through this fic and I’ll sugar coat the living shit out of it so it won’t sound like I’m talking about the best way to get my furniture to behave. I won’t get too heavy into it here, but if you want to know more about anything mentioned in this fic, feel free to email me ( glow_in_the_dark@hotmail.co.nz )
> 
> Any mistakes you might see in this chapter are solely mine. I wouldn't be surprised if Ghost was crying in a corner over my shitty grammar. LOVE YOU GHOST XOXOXOXO
> 
> ONWARDS!!!!

The trip home was tense. At least, on John’s side. John had made sure Sherlock took the time to calm down, to be ready to be seen in public for the time it would take to get through the club, outside, and into the limo. He stood and watched Sherlock like a hawk as the taller man got unsteadily to his feet. 

“You going to be able to walk by yourself?” John asked, gaze flicking over Sherlock’s bare torso. John unbuttoned his suit jacket and placed it on the couch, his waistcoat following it. 

“I’d like to say yes, but I may require some assistance.” Sherlock watched as John removed his dress shirt and then helped Sherlock put it on, doing up the buttons then rolling the sleeves up to just below his elbows. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“It really is.” John retorted, putting his waistcoat and suit jacket back on. “Yours is… un-wearable, at the moment, and I’m not letting you walk about topless out in the club and down to the limo. You’ll catch a cold.” Sherlock’s soiled dress shirt was rolled up then placed in the duffle bag, John slung it over his good shoulder. He would have given the detective his suit jacket, but he had the feeling that there would be a considerable difference between the length of their arms, so it was just easier and less humiliating on his end to give Sherlock his dress shirt. 

“As a doctor you should be well aware that a short trip made topless won’t actually result in me catching a cold.” Regaining his balance, Sherlock walked to stand beside the door of the private room, ready to go home.

“You’re definitely better if you’re insulting me.” John smirked, standing beside Sherlock. He watched carefully for any signs of fatigue or unsteadiness, ready to drop the bag and catch Sherlock should the situation present itself. “Was there a gag in this bag?”

“A ball-gag, yes.” Sherlock’s tone hinted that John should explain his unexpected question.

“Definitely using that next time.”

“May I enquire why?”

“To shut you up. On the way to this room you were throwing deductions about; heavily insulting anyone within scrutinising distance. I’ll get you to wear it near the end. I don’t like the idea of your jaw being open like that the whole time. That way you can make all the unconscious deductions you like and nobody will be any the wiser.”

John opened the door and placed his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, pushing him out into the club before the detective could reply. The gag was apparently necessary. Sherlock probably just gave himself away to anybody who knew about the worlds’ only consulting detective here in London, which wasn’t really a problem. He was sure that if somebody in the club ousted them that Mycroft could quickly and efficiently set him up with his own private practice and Sherlock technically was John’s and his own accountant. And half of England already thought they were sleeping together. Them being in a BDSM club probably wouldn’t shock anybody too much, putting it down to Sherlock’s eccentricities affecting John yet again. But there was the very possible risk of Sherlock making a deduction relating to their case out loud post-orgasm that could blow everything (no pun intended).

Sherlock kept his eyes on the floor as they made their way through the ‘Play Room’. John assured anybody who asked that everything was fine but his sub was tired now so they were going home. He smiled cockily at the Doms that asked if he and his unusual sub would be back, “We’re going to be here as often as we possibly can. He does so love to show off, after all.”

John didn’t remove his arm from Sherlock’s waist once the elevator doors closed and they went down a floor to ‘Ground Level’. Sherlock didn’t think about how much he found that comforting. That even out of the eyes of others, John was sticking to his character and looking after him.

‘Ground Level’ was all but empty, only a few smartly dressed Doms and their kneeling subs sitting and conversing, enjoying the refreshments the bar had to offer.

John smiled at anybody who looked their way, giving off the air of a proud Dom taking his very obedient sub home to lavish with praise and affection. 

The limo was ready and waiting, the driver opening the door for them once they got close enough. John handed the duffle bag to the driver who patiently held it as John sorted Sherlock out. Trading sides, John put his right arm around Sherlock’s waist, taking his left hand and helping Sherlock distribute his weight as he carefully lowered himself into the limousine. Once Sherlock was safely inside John took the duffle bag back from the driver and gave him an honest smile.

The driver smiled back and shut the door behind John before walking round to the driver’s side and starting the limousine. “Back to Baker Street, sir?”

“Yeah, please.” John answered and decided that whoever was paying this chauffer was going to tip him handsomely when the man raised the tinted window that separated the compartments of the limo, giving Sherlock some much needed privacy. John leant back into the luxurious leather seats and closed his eyes, taking some time to think.

As far as John knew, Sherlock hadn’t had sex in years. Then after the long dry spell due to the wonders of distracting cases, John had gone and jerked him off. In front of several strangers. To make matters worse Sherlock had experienced an orgasm-overload followed by a lapse in consciousness where John had struggled to calm Sherlock down from verbally attacking the strangers who had just watched the detective get off. And he had placated Sherlock in between trying to stop the taller man from running away from John when his mentality switched drastically.

A Dom who had been watching had attempted to help John secure Sherlock when he had tried to push himself away from John and had had his failing marriage and mistress sub deduced for everybody to hear. John was carefully not thinking of the part where Sherlock had wrapped himself around John’s smaller frame and threatened bodily harm to anyone who touched his John again.

That threat in it of itself wasn’t too strange. John felt the exact same way about anybody who came too close to Sherlock and happily put bullets in anybody who actually thought that threatening Sherlock was a smart idea. John and Sherlock shared a weird and complex relationship. They were practically a married couple without the intimacy. And John wasn’t counting what happened tonight or any other night as an intimate act that would affect their current relationship because it was for a case. 

And that made _all_ the difference. 

They were equally possessive about each other and had proven that they would do anything for one another. Their friendship was sealed from the very first day they had met and _nothing_ would ever separate them. And considering they were still together after the whole Moriarty debacle and Sherlock’s fake suicide and the _three long years_ that Sherlock had been absent from John’s life as he ensured that John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would be out of harm’s way. John had been furious once Sherlock had announced he wasn’t _actually dead_. But Sherlock had been admirably patient as he waited for John’s rage to subside enough to explain why he had done what he had done.

Once he had finished explaining John had stood up from his armchair, pulled Sherlock out of his own, and then hugged him tight. He all but squeezed the air out of Sherlock’s lungs as he silently thanked him for his enormous sacrifice. And in that moment right there John had sworn that he would do anything and everything for Sherlock. As long as it meant that John Watson could assist and bask in the brilliance that was Sherlock Holmes.

John was brought out of his thoughts by Sherlock slumping to the side in his seat, head landing on John’s right shoulder.

“You alright?” John asked, leaning his own head to the side so that he rested his cheek on Sherlock’s curls. If Sherlock was seeking out physical affection then it was wise to mirror his actions to reassure Sherlock that he wasn’t going anywhere and that John would help him through this.

“Hmm.” Sherlock hummed, his right hand coming up to press over the dog tags hidden beneath his borrowed shirt.

A smile sneaked past John’s defences at how much Sherlock seemed to like his credentials. John doubted he’d be getting them back anytime soon. Though he’d tease Sherlock about it later on: by making Sherlock acknowledge the ever-hated-sentiment that John brought out in him. “You’re going straight into the shower when we get home, and then it’s off to bed with you. I don’t care if you’re not tired or find sleep dull and tedious, you’ll go to bed and you’ll relax and unwind from tonight.”

“Not a problem. I’m quite tired.” Sherlock’s voice was a low and worn out rumble, John feeling the vibrations from his vocal chords against his shoulder. 

“No wonder, you practically came your brains out.” John chuckled. If he made light of what would be their repetitive sexual activity then it would make future episodes less imposing and violating into their normal lives.

Sherlock scoffed. “Impossible.”

“I have several eye witnesses that would suggest otherwise.”

Sherlock’s silence told John exactly what he thought about the ability to somehow ejaculate one’s own grey matter.

John pushed his right arm under Sherlock to wrap around the man’s shoulders, feeling the man relax further against him. “Just don’t fall asleep before your shower. You’ll thoroughly regret in the morning.”

“Hmm.”

\----------------------------------------

John helped Sherlock out of the limousine, barely remembering the duffle bag. Before he got inside he got the chauffer’s name and thanked him for his considerate service. Adrian smiled at John and gave him his business card, saying that Mycroft had arranged for his services so all John had to do was call him with a minute warning and Adrian would be there. And if Adrian was employed by Mycroft then the man was obviously some form of intelligence and was being paid handsomely for his services. But John would still ask for a substantial tip to be paid. After all, the _Bank of Mycroft_ was a handy thing to have at one’s disposal.

Getting Sherlock up the stairs was fairly easy, John supporting him with his arm around his waist, Sherlock’s corresponding arm wrapped around John’s shoulders.

John left the duffle bag on the kitchen table and followed Sherlock into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and laid down the bath mat. Sherlock closed the toilet lid and sat on it, watching intently as John knelt before him to undo the laces of his black leather converses. The sneakers were pulled from his feet with swift care, John placing them neatly at the base of the sink. The ends of his leather pants were pushed up enough for John to hook his fingers under the band of his cotton socks and pull them off, throwing them immediately into the hamper. Next to go was John’s dress shirt, John undoing each of the buttons steadily. It joined the socks in the hamper. Sherlock watched as John faltered only briefly before helping him to his feet, undoing the long cords to his pants and peeling the leather from his legs. 

John turned the leather pants in the right way before chucking them into the hamper also. They’d need to be dry cleaned because John had no idea how to go about removing semen from leather. And to be honest, he didn’t really want to even try. He made to leave the bathroom but was stopped by pale fingers gripping his forearm with bruising strength. 

“Can you stay in the bathroom whilst I shower, please? The hot water might cause light headedness and I don’t really feel like yelling out for help tonight.”

“Fair enough.” John smiled as he sat down on the toilet seat, crossing his ankles in front of him and lacing his fingers. “Do you want to take the dog tags off before you get in?” John did his damnedest to keep the smile off his face and out of his voice.

“Are they not water-proof?” Sherlock queried.

“No, they’re water-proof.”

“Then I shall keep them on.”

“Alright.” John closed his eyes and smiled, getting comfy on the toilet seat and letting Sherlock know just how much he found Sherlock fondness with his dog tags amusing. He heard the shower curtain being pulled back, Sherlock stepping in, the curtain being closed, then Sherlock’s contented sigh at having hot water soothe his body.

\----------------

John kept his eyes closed the entire time Sherlock bathed, listening carefully for any sound of Sherlock’s balance failing. But the detective remained upright the entire time.

John heard Sherlock turn the shower off, open the shower curtain, step out of the shower and the reach out for his towel. He then heard Sherlock languidly dry himself off, his hair taking the longest to dry. Once he was sure Sherlock had secured the towel around his waist, John opened his eyes. He’d seen as much of his friend’s genitals as he could handle for the day. “You going to be alright getting changed?” The question was genuine, John ready to offer a helping hand as long as the end result was Sherlock in bed and asleep.

“I’ll be fine from here.” Sherlock stood a metre and a half in front of John, eyes trained on John’s expensive dress shoes. 

“Shout if you need me.” John uncrossed his ankles, unlaced his fingers, and stood. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night.”

Sherlock waited for John to leave the bathroom before he opened the door that led directly into his bedroom. Dumping his towel on his bedroom floor, Sherlock climbed into bed bare of anything but John’s dog tags. He didn’t want to sleep with anything else on.

\----------------------------------------------

It wasn’t awkward. It really wasn’t. But it wasn’t the same as before.

John could see the slight bump under Sherlock’s worn t-shirt that meant that his flatmate was still wearing his dog tags.

Which made John feel very possessive. Like Sherlock was openly admitting that he belonged to John. John wanted to grab Sherlock by _his_ dog tags and pull him close enough that they were sharing breath. He didn’t want to kiss Sherlock. Just wanted to occupy every inch of the brilliant detective, including the air in the man’s lungs. Which would put him inside Sherlock’s blood. He’d literally be inside every cell of Sherlock’s body. Eventually. And with Sherlock _purposefully_ wearing his dog tags about their flat, John was inclined to think that Sherlock wanted the same thing.

“How did you sleep?” John shuffled into the kitchen and pulled two mugs down from the cupboard, pointedly ignoring the stacks of Petri dishes and mentally filing away a _‘sincere talking to about where mad science experiments belong and where the don’t._

“Like the dead.” Sherlock grumbled as he sat down at the kitchen table, pushing everything that cluttered the table to one side so there was room for them to have breakfast. He placed the duffle bag down onto the floor. On second thought, he unzipped the bag, pulled out his soiled dress shirt, closed the bag again and placed the shirt on top of the bag so he’d remember to take it dry cleaning. 

John scoffed. Of course, Sherlock would say ‘like the dead’ instead of ‘like a log’ or ‘like a rock’ or even ‘like a baby’. “Anything important I should know about last night regarding the case?” The kettle was clicked on as John put four pieces of toast into the toaster. If Sherlock wanted to keep wearing his dog tags, then he’d have to eat breakfast. John plotted away all the ways he could blackmail Sherlock into eating, sleeping, maybe even doing chores or getting milk, all by threatening to take away his dog tags.

“Not really. There were only a couple people that stood out, but I don’t have enough data on them to be able to confidently determine anything. The person who showed the most potential to be our killer-con-man was actually Ethan.”

“Ethan? As in Tony’s sub?”

Sherlock nodded his head in an affirmative before folding his arms on the table and resting his head there. “He may have been the one on the floor, but he was certainly ‘topping from the bottom’.”

“How do you mean?” John leant back against the counter and looked at Sherlock who was looking at him sideways from where his head was resting against his arms.

“Ethan provoked Tony into doing anything and everything that he wanted. Sure, Tony gave the orders, but the moment Tony turned his attention away from Ethan and towards myself, Ethan would make sure Tony focused entirely on him, even if that meant ‘punishment’.”

“Isn’t that a normal response though? I mean, the guy was giving Tony a blow job, surely wanting all of his attention focused on him would be considered normal.”

“Generally, yes. But Ethan is a well trained sub. He knows that it isn’t about him; it’s about pleasing his Master which will in turn usually end with his own pleasure if he has behaved accordingly. So to get _‘jealous’_ ,” Sherlock put the word in air quotes before folding his arms back under his head, “from having Tony turn his head and look and talk about me seems very out of character for a trained sub. Ethan may be young, but his previous Masters were sure to train him properly in submission. 

“He has light and fading scars on his back that are most likely from a whip and a thin cane suggesting intense punishments for his past mistakes and disobediences. Nothing new though, which tells us that whilst he misbehaves around Tony every now and then to get his own way, it has never been serious enough to warrant a full on beating.”

John cringed at that. How anybody could willingly let somebody whip them until they had scars left behind was a mystery to him. “Why did you air quote ‘jealous’?” The kettle pinged to let everyone know it was done and the toast popped two seconds after. John set about making tea and honey on toast.

“To others, Ethan’s actions would appear to be jealousy. But, from my understanding, bouts of jealousy are spontaneous and fickle and quick to rise from nowhere. The expressions Ethan was harbouring leant more towards somebody getting bored and angry that no matter how perfect a sub he was, his Dom’s eyes would still roam elsewhere. So if perfection didn’t keep his Dom’s attention then rebellion would. And from Tony’s comments this had happened before. I don’t believe that Ethan is our suspect, but it is too early to rule anything out.”

“Alright. I’ll keep an eye on him. See if I spot that little homicidal sparkle in his eyes.”

Sherlock chuckled, sitting up right when John placed a mug of tea and a plate with two pieces of honey toast in front in him. He scowled at the food offering and pushed his plate away from him, drinking his tea instead.

John sat beside him with his own toast and tea, pushing the plate back towards Sherlock. “Eat, Sherlock. We’re going back to the club tonight, aren’t we?”

“We are, but I fail to see that as a reason for me to eat.”

“Am I to presume that we’ll be providing… entertainment, tonight as well?”

“Most likely.”

“Then you’ll need some form of energy to keep you going. I highly doubt I’ll be able to just jerk you off again and keep everyone’s interest with us. They’re going to want to see more every time, and god knows what we are going to do by the time we work our way up to the ‘Dungeon’ standards. So, eat.”

“I slept, isn’t that enough to appease you?”

“Oddly enough, no. I won’t be happy until you eat at least two meals a day and sleep a plentiful four hours every night. And then when you comply with that I won’t be happy until you eat three meals a day and sleep seven hours every night. And once you do that, well, who knows what I’ll want after that.” John took a bite of his toast and looked down pointedly at Sherlock’s own. He _really_ wanted to threaten to take away his dog tags, but it was still too early on to use them effectively as a threat. And knowing Sherlock, the fucker would happily hand them over right now just to foil all of John’s attempts at fattening him up and making sure he was well rested.

So John settled on using his trump card later. Much later.

Sherlock let out an almighty and dramatic sigh as he took a bite of his toast. “Happy?” He said round the mouthful.

“For now…” John smiled as they ate their breakfasts together in comfortable silence. 

\----------------------------------------------------

When John came downstairs after showing and getting dressed, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Which wasn’t odd as Sherlock bolted off all the time. 

John climbed back up the stairs to his room and dug out the business card Master Carlisle had given him from his carefully folded suit. His punched the number on there into his cell and waited for the other end to pick up.

 _“Carlisle speaking.”_

“Hello, Master Carlisle. This is John Watson. I’m currently working the case…”

_“Of our missing club members, yes, I remember. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”_

“I, ah… I need your help.”

_“Am I to presume you need my help in distracting the young Mr. Holmes?”_

“Ah, yes. That’s exactly what I need. And I suppose you saw what happened last night?”

_“I wouldn’t be a very good manager if I didn’t know what went on in my club, now would I? You two are the talk of the town, so it would seem.”_

“Good point.” John sat down on his bed and pressed his hand firmly to the back of his neck. “I figured I’d use a… a ball gag, near the end so he can’t deduce anybody like he did last night.”

_“Hmm, whilst that is one of the most efficient ways to go about this, I believe there is an alternative that may prove more useful for all parties involved. Would I be correct in saying that our Sherlock is ruled by that magnificent mind of his?”_

“To the point where getting him to eat and sleep is a mission, yes.” John smiled and was now very happy that he had called Master Carlisle for advice.

_“Then I believe the best way to go about the two of you being able to carry out your job and blend into your surroundings would be to stimulate young Sherlock’s mind into thinking like that of a submissive._

John frowned at that. He didn’t want Sherlock thinking like anybody else. He wanted Sherlock to be Sherlock. Simple as that. But the detective’s mental breakdown at overstimulation had to be dealt with. “What are you suggesting?”

_“There is a vernacular referred to as ‘slave Voice Training’. But is more known for its colloquial ‘slave speech’ or ‘slave speak’. The aim of the voice training is train the slave to speak in the pattern and inflection that their Master finds desirable and is befitting their position as his slave. But in Sherlock’s case it will help separate his mind into two states; him focussing on locating the killer, and him servicing you to assure that your cover remains intact._

_“After last night I contacted Mycroft to discuss Sherlock's unique situation. You’ll have to forgive me for doing so, but I was concerned for Sherlock’s safety. It would be a great grievance for Sherlock to lose himself and give himself away, to our killer only to have that monster’s attentions focused on Sherlock himself. That is the last thing I want. Mycroft told me a considerate amount of Sherlock’s struggles in dealing with typical social conventions which in turn makes him reluctant to seek out physical affection as one usually would. From there I conceded that the most appropriate course of action would be to work with Sherlock’s amazing intellect instead of overriding it solely by physical means.”_

John thought about that for a moment. What Master Carlisle said made sense. Currently, Sherlock was obviously suffering to some extent about being forced into a sexual situation, whether he was willing or not. His body wasn’t used to being touched, especially in a sexual context. If making this easier for Sherlock came down to this ‘slave speak’, then John would do his best to make Sherlock as comfortable about being in all of these sexual situations as possible. “Alright. Okay. Can you send me a file about it?”

_“Of course. The original aspects of Voice Training can seem… impersonal and harsh and won’t apply to the situation the two of you share at the present point. So I’ll go through the file first and make all of the appropriate adjustments so that it specifically applies to Sherlock and Sherlock alone.”_

“Thank you, Master Carlisle.”

_“You are most welcome, John.”_

\----------------------------------

Whilst John waited for Master Carlisle to send the file through, he decided that he would go do the laundry. 

John didn’t generally own anything that required the services of a dry cleaner, and the things that he did own that needed to be professionally cleaned he hardly ever wore. Gathering up his neatly folded but nonetheless soiled suit, John walked downstairs and into Sherlock’s bedroom. Sitting in the bottom of the man’s wardrobe was a large, thick cotton bag that the posh man used to stuff all of his clothes into to take to the dry cleaners. Because everything Sherlock owned needed to be dry cleaned. Including his underwear and socks. _Everything._ The only things Sherlock owned that didn’t need to be professionally cleaned where the old cotton shirts and pyjama pants he slept in. No, those Sherlock had demanded John to wash normally. But only with a load of John’s own clothing. When John had asked him why he had to wash them with his own gear Sherlock had walked away saying, “To save water, of course.” John was only just starting to doubt that economical excuse now though.

John placed his suit inside the thick cotton bag and went about carefully stuffing all of Sherlock’s dirty clothing in the bag as well. He walked through the door in Sherlock’s room that led directly into the bathroom and fished out the leather pants, John’s dress shirt and all of Sherlock’s clothes that he had put into the bathroom hamper, putting them in the bag as well.

Once he was certain he had gathered all the dry cleaning, John placed the bag down in the kitchen and came to a slow stop. Sherlock’s shirt from last night was sitting on top of the duffle bag that held all of the toys. Without thinking too much about it, John picked the shirt up, and put in it the laundry bag, pulling the ties closed and setting it down by the front door. He had spotted a note the kitchen table and sat down as he read it, Sherlock’s debit card falling out as he unfolded the paper. 

_Gone out to run some errands, here’s my debit card so you can do the laundry - SH_

John smiled to himself like an idiot. How Sherlock knew everything, even before it happened, would always amaze him and never get old.

\----------------------------------------

John was sitting down in his armchair reading the paper when Sherlock came home. He had read over the file Master Carlisle had sent him, several times, and had been sitting here deciding the best way to bring the subject up with Sherlock.

“Are you going to tell me what’s gotten you so tense, or are you going to sit there stewing for a bit longer?”

Well, living with Sherlock sure made it easy to broach subjects when the man could spot a lecture coming a mile away.

“I put your debit card on your dresser and the dry cleaners said to come back in three days.” John watched as Sherlock threw his scarf and coat on the couch as he sat down in his chair across from John.

“Wonderful. But let’s quit stalling any longer.” Sherlock pinned John with a sharp look, already knowing what John wanted to talk about. But Sherlock was in a bit of a black mood, so he’d let John struggle through the embarrassment of bringing up the topic himself. He might even get to see John blush. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You know very well what I want to talk about.” John had lived with Sherlock long enough to know when the detective was in a foul mood and enjoyed watching John squirm.

“Humour me.”

“Right.” John folded up his paper and placed it on the table between them, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “If you’re going to be a prick about this then I’ll just get right to it. I talked to Master Carlisle today.” John saw Sherlock tense at the mention of their client’s name. Seems he was still smarting at being told off. Good. “He mentioned that this case might be easier on you if…”

“I’m perfectly capable of working this case without _Master Carlisle’s_ input.” Sherlock all but scowled.

“You and I both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.” Sherlock went to interject but John just held up his hand to silence him. “You’re brilliant, Sherlock. Nobody’s saying anything otherwise. But to get as brilliant as you are right now, you had to do some serious self sacrificing involving physical intimacy and forming relationships of any sort. Hell, you still refer to your brother as your arch enemy.”

“That’s because he _is_.” Sherlock was slumped back in his chair and he looked oddly enough like a child being given a lecture. The kind of lecture where the parent was right but the child would rather forfeit his allowance and telly privileges than admit that he was wrong.

“I see that now,” John smiled a small laugh, “but your brilliance came at a cost, Sherlock. I don’t know what it was about yesterday that made you react the way you did after… just after. Whether it’s because I was the one being intimate with you or the setting in which everything happened… you completely broke down. And that makes me worried. So Master Carlisle came up with the idea that maybe separating the two parts of this case for you mentally might just be what the doctor ordered.”

Sherlock was able to stop the small smirk right in his tracks at the implied pun. Just. “You’re referring to the two parts as when I’m deducing the members of the club and when we have to be intimate.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. Sherlock knew exactly what John was talking about. “What did he suggest?”

“There’s something called ‘slave speak’. Have you heard of it before?”

Sherlock openly scowled and snarled at John. “I am not a _slave_ , John. Just as I am not an object for you to mould and manipulate into something as obedient as a patio chair.”

“So you have heard of it before.” John gave an apologetic smile. “Master Carlisle said that it was impersonal, but to get that reaction from you it must be degrading on several levels.”

“There are submissives who choose to give over every aspect of their life to their Masters to the point where every action is controlled and determined by their Master to the point where they become a _‘slave’_ or _‘pet’_. And as if that isn’t enough, slave speech goes further, allowing a submissive to not only give up their body in a scene for their Master’s pleasure, but their mind as well. And whilst that suits some just fine, I refuse to be owned like that on any level, even if it is for a disguise. I will not give my mind up, not even for you, John.”

“I wouldn’t want to take your ability to think anyway, Sherlock. You’re absolutely brilliant, you know? But sometimes you can be really thick. What in your right mind makes you think I’d want to try and control the one thing that makes you _you?_ And that’s not what I am suggesting anyway. Master Carlisle went through and edited the file and changed it so it would work for you and you alone. It’s not about owning you in any way. It’s about finding you a mental outlet to deal with all of the physical intimacy. 

“You broke down, Sherlock. I thought I had broken you. Over a bloody case. Because of a fucking orgasm. I’m trying to find some sort of outlet for you, Sherlock, so you never have to--to be in that state ever again. So I don’t have to watch as your body functions completely destroy you. Whether it’s temporary or not, I’m not letting you go through that again if I can help it.”

They sat in heavy silence as each was lost in his own thoughts.

Sherlock broke the silence.

“Do you have a print out of his edit?”

“Yeah.” John stretched his body out straight in his chair so he could pull out three pages of folded paper from his front pocket. He handed it over to Sherlock who snatched the papers from him and poured over their contents. John watched Sherlock’s brow crease, un-crease, scowl, then rise. Sherlock read over the papers twice before putting them on the coffee table between them and pressed his finger tips to his chin in a mock prayer. 

“And you are willing to play along with the psychological dominance to pull this off effectively?”

“If it means you don’t break down again, then yes. I’ll do anything.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll find something else.”

“And what will you use as positive and negative reinforcement?”

“Well you’ve always responded well to praise.” John smirked at Sherlock’s glare. “As for the… negative side of things, that’s up to you.”

“You want me to choose my own punishment?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at John.

“ _No._ No. This won’t be about punishment, Sherlock. It will be about getting you back on a non-harmful mental track so you won’t break down.”

“So you want me to choose a device to help me focus?”

“Yes.” John sighed with content, the both of them finally on the same page. 

Sherlock went through his entire sex toy inventory in the spans of two seconds, picking out the most appropriate piece of equipment for this situation. “My riding crop.”

Well. John wasn’t prepared for that.

“Your riding crop?”

“Yes. My riding crop.” Sherlock loathed repeating himself, but the look on John’s face more than made up for that.

“Any particular reason you chose… that?”

“Should I deter mentally from the path you see as correct a quick and delicate stab of pain should be able to bring me back quite sufficiently, don’t you think? It also has the added bonus of fitting in with the clubs décor perfectly.” Oh, if only Sherlock had a camera so he could forever record the look of suppressed shock on John’s face. He framed a mental picture of it nonetheless and hung it up in the hall of his mind palace. Also added a spot light so he could see it all the more clearer every time he had to retreat mentally. Perfect.

 

“Right. Well, can you, ah—can you please go get… it, for me?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in query.

John sighed exasperatedly. “I’ve never used a riding crop before, Sherlock. The last thing I want to do is accidently hit you too hard and cause permanent damage.”

Ah. So John wanted to go upstairs to the safety of his bedroom and practice using the riding crop so he wouldn’t hurt Sherlock. Seeing as it was his skin literally on the line, Sherlock stood and retrieved the riding crop from his room without a word, handing it to John who thanked him before going upstairs. Sherlock heard John’s bedroom door close, and for the next three-quarters of an hour Sherlock openly smirked as he listened to the occasional snap of leather when John put a little too much force into his swings. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

John looked himself over in the mirror.

Damn, he looked _fine._

He really, _really_ needed to take more cases that involved him dressing in well made suits.

He’d happily taken the box that Sherlock had brought up to him and all but ran to shower so he could get the suit on as quick as possible. Sherlock had left him to it as he went downstairs to get changed into his own clothing probably.

Tonight’s suit was a pitch black, the material dyed so dark it didn’t fall into highlights or shadows. It was just a deep and dark shadow that sat against his body in all the right ways. He had been given a pure silk shirt to go with it, the colour that of blood. No waistcoat tonight, but had been given a skinny black tie made of the same material as the suit. He looked ethereal. Demonic, really. He wore the black silk briefs that were in the box along with soft, black cashmere socks. The dress shoes in the box this time were very much like the ones he had worn yesterday, only far more shiny. Where the light hit the shoes they shone white, John getting lost for a moment rolling one of his ankles to watch the way the light hit the shoe. He stalled for only a moment before picking the riding crop up and looking at his reflection once more. 

Okay, now he really did look demonic. Like sin incarnate. 

John would have to ask if he could keep the suits after this case was over. He’d be able to pick up _any_ woman he wanted. _Any_ woman. 

Before John descended the stairs he took one of his favourite jumpers down with him. Should Sherlock’s shirt be soiled again, he wanted to be able to keep his own shirt on, and one of John’s jumpers would probably calm Sherlock in some sense if he got into that state again.

Sherlock was waiting in the door to the kitchen as he had been last night, duffle bag sitting ominously on the kitchen table. 

His hair was a lot more curly than it usually was, Sherlock having put some sort of expensive product in it to make it go near ringlet like that. John preferred his soft curls, but these wild locks were attractive in their own right. He had that hint of eyeliner on again, and John clamped down on his smile at Sherlock wearing make-up. He was wearing the same shoes he had worn last night; the black leather converses. But the rest of Sherlock’s outfit had John swallowing on a dry throat. Red leather, the same dark blood colour as John’s top, covered those long legs. 

The leather had been sewn into strips so that it showed off teasing openings of pale, pale skin down the outside length of Sherlock’s legs. It made John want to run his fingers along those slits of skin. Feel the soft silk of Sherlock’s flesh. He’d do it later on tonight under the safety of being in the club. John’s dog tags were the only thing covering Sherlock’s chest tonight, John feeling very justified in bringing his jumper down now. Leather cuffs of the same colour and material as the pants were secured to Sherlock’s wrists again, black sheep’s wool lining the inside to protect the delicate skin of the man’s wrists.

John stepped forward once more and placed his jumper and the riding crop on the kitchen table next to the duffle bag as he inspected the give on the wrist cuffs. One was too tight and the other too loose. When he looked up, Sherlock was smirking down at him. The fucker had done it on purpose. John adjusted each cuff to their correct snugness before moving to put his jumper in the duffle bag.

“Did you call Adrian?”

“Sir, yes Sir. He is waiting outside right now, Sir.”

John frowned at that. “I know you’re just practicing or looking for a reaction, but let’s drop the ‘Sir’ until we are in the club. I’m not comfortable with being called that in our home.”

“Of course.” Sherlock nodded his understanding and picked up the duffle bag, standing by the front door. “You ready to go, John?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” John smiled, picking up the riding crop as he locked the doors behind him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

John admired the London night life on their way over to _Controversial_. Adrian smiled at him politely as he opened the door both to let them in and out of the limousine. The moment each man stepped out of the expensive car they were well and truly in their individual personas’ of Dom and sub.

They took the two flights of stairs up to the club at a casual pace, Sherlock beside John the entire time, never falling behind or stepping in front of him; always within John’s line of sight.

Sherlock opened the doors to the club and let John step through first, closing the doors behind them as he stood beside his doctor once more. He jumped slightly when John placed his hand on the naked skin at the small of Sherlock’s back, resting just above the waist line of his tight leather pants. Sherlock caught the small smirk that settled on John’s lips, the riding crop settled firmly under his other arm.

John smiled at the same receptionist as the day before who eyed them both appreciatively. “Master Carlisle has reserved the private room that you used last night for your personal use. There will be an attendant on the ‘Ground Level’ that can take your bags to the room if you should so choose it.”

“Thank you.” John smiled at the woman once more before crossing the foyer. He took the membership card out of his inside jacket pocket and swiped them through. Sherlock opened the door for him once more before John could even raise his arm to do it himself.

True to the receptionist’s word, there was an attendant waiting just inside the entrance of ‘Ground Level’ for them. John pushed Sherlock slightly forward to hand over their duffle bag, Sherlock keeping his head down as he handed it over. The attendant bowed low before walking off toward the elevator. Master Carlisle sure did run a tight ship.

John wasn’t really in the mood for making small talk tonight. He was too nervous about how Sherlock was going to react later on and whether or not this ‘slave’ speech would do him any good. So John led Sherlock over to one of the central pillars, reclining back into the expensive black leather couch that surrounded the column, very much aware of the eyes focused on them. Sherlock instantly knelt at his side, as close as he could be to John without actually touching him. Leaning forward, John ran his fingers over the chain of his dog tags at the nape of Sherlock’s neck to get his attention. Sherlock stiffened slightly, but otherwise did not move. “Go to the bar and get me something to drink. If you’re thirsty, then get something for yourself as well. But no alcohol. For either of us.”

“Sir, yes Sir, thank you Sir.” Sherlock stood the moment John pulled his hand away from his nape, keeping his head down as he headed to the bar. 

John made sure to watch Sherlock’s arse bunch beneath the tight leather as he walked. There were eyes on him after all.

Speaking of said eyes, a Domme he had briefly seen yesterday approached John. She had been close enough to hear Sherlock’s response just then, obviously entertained by the sudden reversal from the lippy sub she had seen not even 24 hours ago. “My, my. Well isn’t that a complete one eighty?” She elegantly draped herself beside John, her body turned towards his. The dress she wore was floor length, a delicate peach colour that emphasised the pale flush of her skin. The neck line fell just below her collar bones. When she had sat down, John had seen that the back of the dress was non-existent, the material dipping low so that it just covered her buttocks before falling to the floor in an elegant drape.

“Yeah, thought we would try something different tonight.” John made sure to keep his eyes solely on Sherlock, face relaxed and kind, full of pride. Sherlock was being such a good and obedient sub, after all. John could be nothing but proud right now.

“Get tired of the lip?” The woman didn’t seem to be offended by the fact that John was not giving her his full attention, so John kept watching Sherlock. The detective leant over the bar slightly as he placed their order, the slits in his pants widening along the thighs to reveal large breaches of pale skin.

John licked his lips before answering. “No. I quite happen to like the back-sass. But he’s a quick learner, so I thought I would abuse his ability to pick things up fast.”

The woman laughed softly in her seat and John shot her a quick glace. She really was beautiful. If he’d seen her outside of ‘Controversial’ dressed like that, he definitely would have made a move on her. John focused on her face and not her toned body and saw that her eyes were fixed on Sherlock as well. “Well, he does seem to be enjoying the limelight.”

John looked back at Sherlock, eyes traveling over the long line of his left leg as the man half knelt on the barstool, peering at the selection of non-alcoholic drinks. And with his legs angled like that, John and anybody this side of Sherlock got a fantastic view of the man’s crotch encased in tight, red leather. His back was a sinuous arch; spine dipped low, shoulders curled forward in a way that emphasised the rest of his arching spine. He was breath-taking. And it would seem that most occupants of ‘Ground Level’ would agree.

To the other occupants of the club, Sherlock seemed to be showing off his body in a highly provocative way. Letting everyone know that it was fine to look, but the dog tags around his neck meant that none could touch. Sherlock was attractive and beautiful and sensual and only _one_ person was aloud to touch him. John.

But John knew it was much more than that. Yes, Sherlock was being a right ole cock tease. But what he was really doing was attempting to catch the attention of those around him to build up a hype of activities to follow. And with that hype, he could hopefully be able to deduce a few more of the clubs attendants to find leads. At least, that’s what he would tell John. But John was beginning to be able to see when Sherlock was plotting twenty steps ahead. And this was one of those moments. He’d thrown his all into every tiny detail, focusing so much attention on his disguise. John had learnt to pick up on when Sherlock was creating a lie several layers thick over the years from observing the way Sherlock’s posture would change. He’d go from his casual elegance to something else entirely, changing everything about himself to get the information he needed. Others probably wouldn’t be able to notice the way Sherlock changed himself. The biggest hint was when Sherlock suddenly sprouted emotions; tearing up or displaying happiness that didn’t sprout from murders, chasing criminals or teasing Mycroft. Another big give away was the way Sherlock’s hips would swing ever so slightly wider when he wanted to get information quickly from women through sexual attraction. He was doing so right now. Building up a lie of sexuality several layers thicks.

And this case was very much a multi-layer-lie. John just hoped to all the gods that Sherlock wasn’t trying to draw the killer towards himself. And because John had thought of it, Sherlock had to have thought of it too, and that was probably exactly what he was doing. Playing the extremely obedient sub who could only be tamed by one man to draw their killer close with the opportunity to try and tame him himself. The ultimate challenge. Or Sherlock could play up his disobedience and let the killer approach John with the offer of being a much more obedient sub; somebody who would be much easier on John’s stress levels. Sherlock would probably try to put both into action. John prepared himself for any future ploys Sherlock would throw at him.

“Yes, well, that’s the whole reason we are here. So he can watch and be watched in turn.”

\----------------------

Sherlock took the vintage glass coke bottle in one hand and the bottled mineral water in the other before turning back to take their drinks to John. He frowned at the woman sitting beside John. She was beautiful. Definitely John’s type. But John’s eyes had been on Sherlock the entire time he was at the bar, save one moment where Sherlock had changed his body posture to something more sensual to lure John’s gaze back. He had made sure by leaning forward on one of the bar stools so he could see John in the reflection of the glass case housing the more expensive liquors. And his constant attention of Sherlock was good. At least John could put his libido aside for one moment and focus on the case. Which meant focussing on Sherlock.

“Master Sir?” Sherlock made it a question in the sense that he hoped it was alright that he was interrupting a potential conversation with another person. He fixed his eyes on John’s chest, obeying the no eye contact rule but defying the common courtesy rule by not having his eyes fixed to the ground. The smirk he saw on the woman’s face in his peripheral vision meant that she had noticed his roundabout obedience.

John held out his hand and Sherlock placed the coke in it. He let his eyes travel up to John’s mouth to watch his reaction to the glass bottle. John rarely drank coke, but would always buy the soft drink if it was in a glass bottle for some absurd reason, as if it tasted better simply because it was contained in glass. And it didn’t. Taste better, that is. Sherlock had experimented on it. But the instant smile that lit up John’s face said that he had made the right choice. 

Sherlock made to kneel at John’s side once more, but John’s firm grip on his forearm stopped him mid-descent. Sherlock broke all regards for submissive respect and looked John straight in the eyes with confusion. John’s smile softened into one of affection, gently tugged him until Sherlock was straddling the doctor’s thighs. The two of them briefly heard the woman excuse herself to let them get on with it. Sherlock didn’t care. John kept looking up at him with that soft smile, sincere in the way it crinkled his eyes. As John leant slowly forward, Sherlock found his body mimicking the measured pace until their foreheads were pressed together. John spoke in a low tone so nobody but Sherlock could hear the hushed words.

“I want you to give me a quick kiss on the lips then curl up at my side on the couch however is most comfortable for you. I’m sorry for the current position; it’s all I could think of at the time to get rid of that woman.”

When the silence stretched Sherlock realised that John was waiting for Sherlock to give a reassuring answer to their current physical position. “It’s fine.” Sherlock blinked heavily in time with John, quickly finding that his body was completely in tuned with his flatmate’s.

“After you’re all curled up I want you to make as many deductions as you can in here. If there is anybody you’d like to get a little closer to then let me know and I can go over to them and start up a conversation. When you can’t get anything more in here, we’ll go up to the ‘Play Room’.”

Sherlock acknowledged he understood by pressing that quick kiss to John’s lips.

It was the first kiss he had shared with somebody in many years.

The first kiss he had ever shared with John.

Sherlock fought the urge to steal another kiss by slowly moving until he was half sprawled over John’s lap. John chuckled lightly above him, moving beneath Sherlock slightly until he got into a more comfortable position, a position that would allow Sherlock to sprawl even more. Sherlock nuzzled his face into the dark fabric covering John’s thigh as he began to deduce the crowd, cataloguing all important and relevant data.

John’s right arm went up to balance himself along the back of the couch, glass coke bottle clutched in his hand. His left leg had come up entirely onto the couch, bent with his foot near his crotch so Sherlock could curl up in his lap. He let an affectionate smile show on his face as the detective buried his head in John’s thigh before looking out into the crowd. He had his bottle of water clutched close to his chest and if it wasn’t for the tantalising red leather pants, he would have looked childish. 

John half-twisted his torso so he could uncap his coke bottle, taking a long swig from the chilled glass. He didn’t care what Sherlock’s numerous experiments had revealed, coke always tasted better from a glass bottle. 

By the time he had finished his coke, John was sure Sherlock had done a preliminary sweep of the place, and was now onto his more detailed observations. Which meant longer lingering looks to pull apart people’s lives to discover whether they were a murderer or not. And John didn’t need to be the world’s only consulting detective to know that Sherlock’s lingering looks were causing unwanted attention. 

John placed his left hand slowly and delicately over Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock flinched slightly before slowly following the tilt of John’s hand until he was looking up at his doctor, body now turned inwards so he was facing John. John smiled down at him, the pull of his lips _saturated_ with sentiment. He quickly assessed why John would stop him in the middle of his deductions and the only thing he could come up with was that his soul-breaching stares had put Masters and Mistresses off alike. Returning the smile easily, Sherlock leant up and kissed John again, longer this time. If John asked him why he had kissed him he’d say it was to assure the Doms watching them that nothing was out of the ordinary here. It most definitely wasn’t because he wanted to kiss John again.

The smirk against his lips suggested that John might possibly be a on to him and his thin lies. 

But John didn’t pull away from the press of his lips, if anything he returned the pressure in equal measures. So Sherlock tested the waters by licking the seam of John’s lips.

Wrong move.

Both of John’s hands came up to fist in Sherlock’s hair; crushing his curls. John’s forearms supported the forced and painful arch of his neck by pressing against his shoulder blades. John licked a long line up Sherlock’s neck, trailing across his jaw to huff moist breath against his ear. 

Sherlock shuddered and writhed, trying to relieve the pressure on his neck. John merely pulled him back tighter, curling his spine in an unnatural way.

“Have you got everything you need in this room?” John breathed the words out hotly against his ear, making sure to smirk for his sudden audience when Sherlock shivered against him.

“Sir—yes Sir.” Sherlock struggled to get the words out through his tight, stretched throat.

“Are you sure?”

“Sir, yes Sir.” When John slowly let go of his hair to ensure minimal pain in righting the curve of his spine, Sherlock eased forward until he was hunched over, forehead resting on John’s chest.

“Then grab your water bottle and we’ll go on to the ‘Play Room’.” These words were loud enough for others to hear, should anyone happen to be listening. John helped Sherlock stand, placing his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back as they walked towards the elevator. Once the doors pinged closed, John dropped his persona momentarily, looking up at Sherlock with concern etched into every line on his face. “Is your neck alright? I’m so sorry. People were watching and you surprised me… I didn’t know how to--”

“I’m fine, John.” Sherlock gave a reassuring squeeze to John’s shoulder. “But let’s not do something like that again tonight, just in case.”

“Of course. I’m so sorry.” With his inner doctor now somewhat satisfied that he hadn’t done any foreseen harm, John pressed the button on the elevator that merely had an upwards arrow on it, a small sign next to it reading _‘The Play Room’_.

When the elevator doors opened both Sherlock and John were back into their correct personas. 

Sherlock instantly began secretly deducing as John led them to the centre of the room, sitting down on another one of the pillar surrounding couches. Sherlock knelt beside John when the doctor placed a small throw pillow from the couch down on the floor for him. Once kneeling, Sherlock leant his body against John’s left leg, the one with the psychosomatic limp. When John tangled his fingers through his curls, Sherlock fully relaxed into John; head resting on his thigh, hands clutched firmly but not tightly around his calf. This leg was John’s blind spot; and Sherlock was protecting it just as a sub in their peculiar relationship would.

\----------------------------------------

Nobody at the club seemed to be any variety of interesting. Aside from the whole kinky sex thing. They just lacked any of the interest con-men usually had. Especially con-men that killed and disposed of the bodies in such a way that they could not be found.

John had taken his water bottle from him when they sat down and was dictating when he should drink. He’d made an idle threat at one point about ordering some snacks from the bar because Sherlock couldn’t refuse the food in this disguise.

As he sat picking people lives apart, John continued to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. The simple repetitive action was alarmingly calming, allowing his mind to sort through the chaos of overwhelming sexual data with a bit more ease. The sexual acts around him were having an affect on his body, but John’s gentle caresses were helping to curb the desire to rut against the nearest surface to relieve the growing pressure in his groin.

Sherlock was starting to think that anybody they encountered on the ‘Ground Level’ or in the ‘Play Room’ would not be their suspect. The truly interesting people with their controversial kinks would be in the ‘Dungeon’. But he was nowhere near ready to go down there and have John do dark things to him for the sake of the disguise and the case. He needed to get used to sex again, let John get used to manipulating a male’s body, and until he was ready and they had built up a steady level of physical intimacy, they would only be sexual in the ‘Play Room’. 

He began shutting certain doors in his mind; locking away all the information he had gathered over the past two nights and letting himself fall completely into the role of John’s sub. As he looked over the crowd again, he still made deductions, but the data he collected now was entirely sexual. Everybody in the room seemed to become a lot more prominent now that he had dissected what he could from them; leaving nothing but _sexual acts_ and _wants_ and _needs_ and _fantasies._ Sherlock clutched a little tighter to John, letting him know he had gotten all the information he could possible glean from this room.

But John didn’t do anything. Just kept running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. He did pass Sherlock’s bottle of water down to him, uncapped, mistaking the signal Sherlock had given him for one of thirst. “Sir, yes Sir, thank you Sir.” Sherlock took the water bottle and finished the bloody thing off so John would stop handing it to him. Passing the empty plastic back up, Sherlock defied several simple rules by looking John right in the eye, letting him know that he had finished his deductions with a more direct route. Letting him know that all these people having _sex_ so close to him were making him uncomfortable. Letting John know that he should do something about it _now_ so they could go home and Sherlock could analyse the data better in his own room away from everybody.

The only warning Sherlock got was John lifting a single brow.

 _“AH!”_ The outburst was completely unintentional. But bloody _John_ had just whipped him with his own bloody riding crop and the slap of the leather against his shoulder blade had completely surprised the bloody fuck out of him. Sherlock was quick to apologise, head to the floor. “Sir, sorry Master Sir.” Another sharp slap to his other shoulder blade and Sherlock was scrambling in his thoughts for what he had done wrong.

John was patient as he waited for Sherlock to correct himself. He had studied that file Master Carlisle had sent him just as much, if not more, than Sherlock had, ready to follow all the instructions and rules to the letter.

It was most definitely the wording of _‘Sir, sorry Master Sir’_ where he had gone wrong. But what was wrong about it? Sherlock had apologised immediately after he had purposely broken the no-eye-contact rule. He’d apologised and that had gotten him another hit with the riding crop. That didn’t make sense. How did _apologising_ get you more _punishment?_ Why did _apologising_ get… _Oh,_ how could he have been so _stupid?_

“Sir, beg your pardon Master Sir.” Sherlock tried and sagged with relief into John’s leg when he didn’t receive another hit and John’s hand returned to his hair. Slave speech specifies that he should _never_ say ‘sorry’. Apologizing meant that in his Master had in some form not been clear in his teachings; or that mistakes were something shameful meant to be forgiven for. And there was nothing shameful nor wrong about making mistakes. Mistakes simply meant that one needed to quickly correct themselves to move on to continue pleasing their Master. And to move on, one merely needed to be pardoned. 

“Mmm~” John dragged the sound out as he thought in an over acted matter. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and show me just how sorry you really are.” 

“Sir, yes Sir, thank you Master Sir.” Gratitude and emphasis could be expressed in a response by adding a _‘Master’_ to reinforce sincerity. But Sherlock knew that if he continued adding the reinforcement that he’d earn himself another hit from the riding crop because reinforcements could not replace the standard responses of slave speech. It was all so terribly intricate in its supposed simplicity.

Sherlock stood with a liquid grace and moved so he was straddling John’s thighs. He was well aware of the few people staring their way. Others in the club might have been doing more; fucking their subs into the carpet, whipping pretty red welts onto willing thighs and backs, securing subs to support beams in various positions to apply various measures to please and torment subs for their Dom’s enjoyment, making their subs work overtime for their orgasms—but none of them looked half as good as Sherlock sitting in John’s lap. And the members of the club picked up on that wonderfully. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and leaned in briefly, just to lick across John’s lips, before pulling back with a smirk.

John smirked right back at Sherlock, letting the fingers of his right hand play with the slits of skin exposed by those ever-lovely red leather pants. His left hand came up to hold onto his dog tags with his thumb and forefinger, feeling his raised credentials with the pad of his thumb. But not before placing the riding crop over Sherlock’s taut thighs, the instrument of discipline rolling back until it rested against John’s abdomen. The threat was right there for Sherlock to see and feel. Whilst John liked him a little cocky like this, a step in the wrong direction would result in some well placed welts. “I’m feeling rather generous. Tell me what you want me to do to you in front of all if these nice people.” John let go of his dog tags and dropped his left hand to toy with the splits of pale skin to mirror his right hand on the detective’s left thigh.

“Sir, your sub wants whatever it is Sir wants, Sir.” Sherlock made his breaths a little more shallow and quick, leaning his body closer to John’s. He was carefully crafting responses that would be deemed acceptable for a sub who wanted what his Dom wanted.

“Pretty answer.” John’s smile turned a little bit wicked before he grabbed the riding crop and slapped the centre of Sherlock’s spine between his shoulder blades. Sherlock arched forward away from the crop, arms tightening around John’s neck in a hug of apology. “But I asked you what _you_ wanted me to do to you. So try again.”

“Sir, beg your pardon Sir.” Sherlock shuddered out first, nuzzling his nose just beneath John’s ear. “Sir, your sub would appreciate Sir’s hand on him, Sir.”

“My hands are on you, love.” And indeed they were, John’s fingers having moved back after replacing the riding crop to its resting position to toy with the exposed skin of Sherlock’s thighs.

“Sir…” Sherlock pushed his crotch a little closer to John, arms tightening further around John’s neck as he buried his face under the doctor’s jaw. “Sir, your sub would appreciate Sir’s hand on his sub’s cock, Sir.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to not just straight up say, _‘Jack me off, John. Now.’_

“Oh but that’s so _boring._ ” John all but smirked as he mimicked Sherlock and all of his ‘bored’, ‘boring’ or ‘dull’ exclamations perfectly. “We’ve already shown everybody what my hand on your cock looks like. Try to be a bit more inventive. Use that big brain of yours.”

Sherlock thought about all the possibilities. What would he be comfortable with having done to him right now with all of these possible suspects watching? What would make these possible suspects grow attached to him and John enough to make either of them a target? There was only one thing he could think of at the moment, something he had wanted to try again since he had been in university but had neither the interest nor a trusted partner around to do such a thing. “Sir,” Sherlock licked the curve of John’s jaw. “Sir, your sub would appreciate Sir’s fingers inside of him, Sir.” Sherlock watched attentively as John’s eyes widened ever so minutely before returning to a smug and teasing glare, cataloguing the motion and filing it away.

“Right.” John lightly guided Sherlock to stand up with a gentle but insistent push of his arms. “Then you best go get our bag.” He reached inside his inner suit jacket pocket and pulled out their membership card, giving it to Sherlock.

“Sir, yes sir, thank you Sir.” Sherlock kept his head down as he made his way over to the private room they had occupied the night before. He swiped the card through the slot on the door and pushed it open in a near hurry. Their duffle bag was sitting on the low table beside the very long couch, Sherlock snatching it up, trying to slow his walk down as he headed back to John. 

He placed the duffle bag within arms reach beside his doctor on the couch, remaining standing with his head down as he waited for further instructions. He caught sight of John picking up the riding crop in his peripheral vision and tensed with dreaded anticipation for the sharp slap of the leather tongue that would follow for whatever unknown discrepancy he had just made. Kneeling. He should have knelt before John, not remained standing.

Sherlock sucked in a surprised, sharp breath when the leather tip of the riding crop pushed and prodded against the bulge in his leather pants.

“You hard, baby?”

Sherlock dared to look up as far as John’s smug smirk. “Sir, yes Sir.”

“Show me. Show me how hard you are. How hard thinking about my fingers _inside_ you made you.”

“Sir, yes Sir.” Sherlock moved his hands to the button and zip keeping his pants fastened, willing the slight tremor in his hands to stop. The riding crop remained pressed into the base of the bulge in his pants, and when Sherlock risked a look up at John’s face, he saw John watching his eyes intently. The crop slapped down over an exposed slit of skin on his thigh and Sherlock dropped his gaze back down to undoing his fly with a flinch. “Sir, beg your pardon Sir.” Was it really _so hard_ to just stop meeting John’s eyes. It was a simple rule, _so why the hell couldn’t Sherlock follow it?_

Sherlock bit his bottom lip when his erection was freed from behind the metal confine of the zip, the cool air making his cock twitch.

John positively smirked when Sherlock’s cock twitched. He ran the tongue of the riding crop up Sherlock’s erection, from base to tip, and thrilled in the way the muscles of his abdomen clenched down at the sensation. “Does the thought of me fingering you _really_ excite you that much?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“No helping it then, I suppose.” John gave Sherlock’s member one more stroke with the riding crop before straightening up in his seat. “Pull your pants down to mid thigh and lay over my lap.”

“Sir, yes sir, thank you Sir.”

As Sherlock moved to complete John’s orders John pulled a tube of lubricant out of the duffle bag and placed the bag right at the back of the couch so it was still within arms reach, but wouldn’t be in Sherlock’s way. 

Sherlock completely blocked out the other people in the room, focussing only on John and what was required of him so they could go home. But the longer this went on, the less and less he cared about going home to analyse evidence and the more he cared about pleasing John. Positioning himself as John had ordered him over the doctor’s lap, Sherlock visibly shuddered when John placed both of his hands on his back, rubbing small circles into his overheated skin with his thumbs. 

John looked at the three red patches of skin along the top of Sherlock’s back. He delicately ran his fingers over them so make sure he hadn’t done too much damage. The blood beneath the skin had risen to the surface but wasn’t broken and there weren’t any welts, so that was a good sign. He had practiced with the riding crop in his room so he knew precisely how much strength he could power into each blow depending on the angle. Sherlock squirmed beneath his touch, so just to spite the little shit for the thumbs in the crisper, John pinched the red mark in between his shoulder blades. 

At the sharp throb of pain between his shoulder blades, Sherlock arched his spine away from John’s fingers, his hips thrusting up into the air to accommodate the angle and letting out a quick _“Ah!”_ of pain.

Then John utilized Sherlock’s upraised position by rubbing the dry pad of his thumb over his entrance and Sherlock dropped his head into his arms, a shuddering breath escaping him as he pushed his hips up into that thumb, biting his bottom lip around a moan.

“Eager now aren’t we?” John teased, adding a bit more pressure to his rubbing, pushing against that tight little pucker but never penetrating.

“Sir, yes Sir.” Sherlock’s voice was breathy, John’s thumb making small shots of electricity spark up his spine.

Humming his appreciation, John took both hands away from Sherlock to uncap the tube of lubricant and slick the fingers of his right hand up. He smirked at the way Sherlock’s body arched to follow his momentary retreat. Fingers slick, John smeared the lube around Sherlock’s hole with slow strokes, dropping slightly lower for a moment to caress his balls with a wet grip. The moment Sherlock moaned, John pulled his hand away and went back to rubbing wetly over Sherlock’s arsehole.

After a solid minute and twenty-seven seconds, Sherlock was officially sick of being teased. “Sir, _please_ —Sir.” Sherlock lowered his shoulders as far as he could and raised his hips, pushing up into John’s fingers.

“Please what, love?” John relented in his teasing to add more lubricant to his fingers, going right back to tormenting Sherlock’s hole afterwards.

“Sir, your sub wants Sir’s fingers _in_ him, Sir, please Sir.” Hopefully all the extra respectful _’Sir’s’_ would tilt things in his favour.

“Seeing as you asked so nicely…” John pushed his index finger into Sherlock slowly, ever so slowly, making sure the detective felt ever millimetre entering him. It was a hard motion to manage because Sherlock raised himself up so he could try and make John’s intrusion go quicker. John pushed Sherlock's shoulders back down onto the couch with his left hand, catching the whine Sherlock let out at being forced to go slow. “As much as your enthusiasm is appreciated, it would do you a world of good to just sit there and behave for once.”

“Sir, beg your pardon Sir.” Sherlock’s voice was getting weird, his thoughts muddled and unclear on anything that wasn’t him and John right here, right now. John had finally inserted his whole index finger and all Sherlock could think about was having another inside of him. But John was taking his sweet time, slowly pumping his finger in and out, in and out, massaging his inner walls. He all but keened when he felt the tight push of the second finger, using all of his will power to keep his hips still and to not just push back on John’s hand to fuck himself.

Sherlock was tight. Very, _very_ tight. And _hot_ inside. John had never experienced such a fiery inner heat. Not to mention shaking from the struggle to keep still. So John thought he’d blow the youngest Homes’ mind the best way he knew how. 

“Do you know what the best part about being a doctor is, love?”

Sherlock couldn’t acquire enough brain cells to find out the answer to the question on his own, so instead said a polite, “Sir, no Sir.”

John rubbed his left hand up and down Sherlock’s back in calming motions. “The best part about being a doctor is that I know _exactly_ where your prostate is.” The instant the words left his mouth John crooked his fingers downward and rubbed against that little bundle of nerves deep inside his flatmate. He was happy to find that Sherlock’s prostate seemed to feel one hundred percent healthy and problem free. John worried about Sherlock’s overall health so much that if it took them going to a sex club to complete a partial physical on the man, then so be it.

Whilst John was going through his mental doctor’s tirade on why Sherlock didn’t eat enough and just didn’t seem to care about his own health in general, Sherlock was letting out very loud moans of pleasure that others might have interpreted to be screams of passion. The pressure on his prostate was constant, the sharp bursts of _sensation_ exploding through his system as John kept up a merciless, circular rub. He hadn’t felt this kind of pleasure in so bloody long, and the memories he had of prostate stimulation paled immensely from his own inexpert fumbling in comparison to the havoc John was wrecking inside him. His spine dropped low as he pushed up onto his forearms, making the bend of vertebrae damn near close to snapping point. 

He rocked back onto John’s fingers as moan _after moan_ fell from his lips, John never bloody once removing his fingers from his prostate. He could feel his cock leaking copiously and it was quickly becoming too much, much too much, _far too much,_ and Sherlock groaned wantonly. He just needed one stroke, one touch to his cock and he’d orgasm. _Just one touch._ Why wasn’t John touching him? Should he ask? Was that it? Was he meant to ask for permission to come? “Sir… please I… beg your… your sub needs to… would appreciate… please, John… _please--_ ” He couldn’t get the words out. Everything was a mess in his head. He couldn’t _think._ John wasn’t letting him **_think._**

Sherlock heard the soft hushing sounds John was making, left hand stroking through his hair in an attempt to calm him. But his _god damned fingers_ were _still_ rubbing against his prostate, all calming attempts going out the window. But he listened to every word John spoke with as much focus as he could muster up in his boggled situation. “God, love, you’re leaking so much. Making such a thorough mess. I want you to come the moment I touch your cock. And after you’ve had a mind blowing orgasm, I want complete silence afterwards. Not _one_ word. If you can do that for me, babe, I’ll be so happy. You’ll make me so _proud_ if you can remain silent after your orgasm. You can do that for me, can’t you, love?”

Sherlock whimpered, nodding minutely. “Sir… yes Sir.”

Sherlock’s body tensed up so suddenly the moment he felt John secure a tight fist around his achingly hard erection. His cock pulsed and throbbed as his orgasm tore through him; the scream he let out made his voice crack then break, until nothing but harsh air escaped his vocal chords.

He felt his body sag completely the moment his orgasm had finished, John’s arms waiting to catch him. Sherlock bit his lip to stop whatever words were going to come out. He had to keep John happy. Being quiet made John happy, made John _proud_. So he _had_ to keep quiet.

John helped Sherlock stand, taking on most the lanky detective’s weight as he pulled Sherlock’s leather pants back up, fastening the zip and button. Sherlock buried his head in John’s neck, muttering hushed words about staying quiet to keep John happy. It took a moment for John to realise that Sherlock was speaking his thoughts. And his thoughts just kept going around in the same repeated loop. 

John frowned. How was Sherlock stuck on a repeat track any better than him deducing everybody to their bones and then some? At least he wasn’t trying to get away from John this time. That was a _slight_ improvement. Sherlock couldn’t seem to get close enough to him right now.

There was no mess on either of them, Sherlock’s spunk having landed on the leather couch between John’s legs. John felt a bit guilty about that, but when he turned around to pick up the duffle bag and chuck the lube back inside, he saw one of the clubs attendants walking away with a small clean up kit in their hands, Sherlock’s ejaculate cleaned from the leather couch, the smell of disinfectant in the air. Master Carlisle certainly an efficient club.

John led them to their private room, nodding his thanks to those who laid praise on Sherlock.

The room was just the same as it was the night before, save for the comfy and expensive looking mink blankets that covered the couch, an additional blanket draped over the back. John tried to lower Sherlock down to the mink covered couch, but the detective was having none of that, clinging to John tighter. John placed the duffle bag on the low table and opened it up to pull out the jumper he had packed. “Sherlock, can you put this on of he please?”

“Sir, yes Sir.” Sherlock reluctantly let go of John, pulling on a crème coloured jumper. It smelt of their laundry detergent and faintly of John and was surprisingly a lot softer than he thought it would have been. The moment the jumper was on, Sherlock went back to clinging to John, seeking out as much physical contact as possible. 

Sighing slightly, John sat down with Sherlock and was caught only a little bit off guard when Sherlock pushed him down to lie flat along the couch, half on top of him.

John wrapped a reassuring arm around Sherlock, the other hand going to massages the man’s scalp through his tangle of curls. Sherlock was still muttering his thoughts though, and using slave speech. “Sherlock,” John made sure he had the man’s attention before continuing. “Sherlock, you don’t need to stay quiet anymore. We’re alone in the private room.”

And what a can of worms that opened.

Sherlock let out a litany of… John wouldn’t call them deductions, not really. They just seemed to be Sherlock’s general thoughts, which sounded a lot like deductions, but there was a very subtle difference. That and they were all formatted to be said in slave speech. He made sure not to listen to any of them. Sherlock’s thoughts were private and he’d probably be pissed if he’d known John was taking down notes on his post-orgasm psyche. John just made sure to keep massaging Sherlock’s scalp and running a firm palm up and down the man’s back, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fragile skin. Sherlock was gaining weight slowly. His ribs were still a bit too prominent for John’s liking, but they were slowly being covered in muscle and flesh. What John would give to put a layer of fat on the man. Reserves for when he didn’t eat for three days in row.

\-------------------------------------------------------

It took a good twenty minutes for the muttering of thoughts to stop. And then another ten as Sherlock put himself back together mentally; abandoning the slave speech vernacular.

John noticed the change of post-orgasm-Sherlock back to regular-Sherlock near instantly. Sherlock moved so that he wasn’t lying on top of John anymore, but remained just as close by pressing his body along the side of John’s, a hand coming up to rest over John’s heart. “Hey, mate, you back?”

Sherlock just nodded against John’s good shoulder, monitoring the doctor’s pulse.

John caught on though. “Shouldn’t I be the one taking your pulse?”

“If you like.”

John smiled, moving his left arm to the hand over his heart, securing his forefinger and middle finger over the pulse point in Sherlock’s wrist. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock. You’re like a hummingbird!”

“It’ll go down, eventually.”

“Eventually… Jesus. You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” John kept his fingers firmly over Sherlock’s pulse. “We’ll leave the moment your heart isn’t threatening to beat its way out of your chest.”

“We’re going to be waiting a while then.”

“Fine by me.” John left go of Sherlock’s wrist momentarily to pull the mink blanket that was over the back of the couch over them. It was a bit tricky arranging the blanket without the use of one hand and a limited range of movement, and Sherlock not bothering to help at all the prick, but John did it eventually. “Wake me when your hearts calmed its farm.”

“You’re going to _sleep?_ ”Sherlock raised his head to look up at John incredibly. “How could you possibly go to sleep right now?”

“Long day, I’m tired, and I was in the army, Sherlock, so I can fall asleep wherever and whenever I want.” John closed his eyes but could still see the lights behind his eyelids. “Be a dear and turn the lights off, would you?”

“They’re clappers, John. You don’t need to get up.” Sherlock raised himself up onto his elbows and clapped twice, the room slowly draining of light until they were swallowed completely in darkness.

“Oh, that’s cool.” John smiled at nothing and sighed in contentment. He placed his hand back to Sherlock’s pulse and used all of his instant sleep techniques that the army had given him. 

It took a shocking thirty-six seconds for John to fall asleep, and Sherlock was both intrigued and appalled. He got comfortable against John’s prone form and squeezed his eyes shut with ease when John’s arms tightened around him from Sherlock’s movements, then relaxed again. He thought about going over the data he had collected tonight, but decided to leave it until they got home. He’d focus on cataloguing John’s breathing patterns for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you liked this chapter then please KUDOS, and if you really liked it them please COMMENT!!! And I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, but know that it's gunna be chocca full of sexual good times. _Chocca._  
>  Oh, and don't forget to check out my tumblr for updates, sneak peaks and WIPs. And the occasional fanart. http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art OH!!! If you want to be a part of chapter four then head on over to my tumblr and read my latest post!!!! http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art


	4. Bright Dogs and Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **CHAPTER WARNINGS:** Nipple play, minor sensory play, vibrators, blow jobs, and I think that's it. Again, nothing too major, we haven't reached 'The Dungeon' yet folks, lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, my ever lovely beta has a whole bunch of stuff going on right now so can't edit this chapter just yet. But I know a few of you are about one more day away from holding me a gun-point and demanding this chapter so I'll just upload the roughly editted version by me and then update it properly once Ghost works her magic on my shity grammar skills, lol. So enjoy lovelies and I apologise profusely for my crappy grammar, poor spelling, and plentiful typos. :D

“So I’m fairly certain that the killer only makes appearances in the ‘Dungeon’.” 

Sherlock looked up from where he was testing the viscosity of seven different sexual lubricants. So far, the brand John had used on him last night was winning in most efficient and long lasting. “And what makes you think that?”

“I was looking over the case file Master Carlisle had put together and all of the known victims so far were regular attendants down in the ‘Dungeon’. It was also the last place anybody recalled seeing the victims.”

“Wonderful deductions, John. And what do you plan on doing with this newfound information?” Sherlock turned his attention back to the lubricants, now comparing the chemical make up of each substance. He’d already done a taste-test when John was out of the room.

John shuffled about the kitchen awkwardly, deciding that this subject was going to be easier on his part if tea was involved. He went through the motions of making two cups of tea as he tried to force the words out. “We are going to have to… work our way up to the ‘Dungeon’ quickly if we have any hope of finding the killer before he strikes again.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock leant back in his chair and held the bottle of lubricant that John had used last night up for the doctor to take. “Please only use this lubricant on or in my person from now on.”

Sherlock smirked as the tips of John’s ears went bright red.

“Right.” John took the lube from Sherlock, stared at it in silence for a moment, then placed it back down on the kitchen table turning back to make the tea, the kettle finished boiling the water. As he added a splash of milk, John took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “From now on, I only want you to pack the… toys you want to use each night. I’ll use everything you pack if I think you can handle it and we’ll continue to use the voice training to help you adjust mentally to the physical side of things.”

“Alright.”

John nodded, turning to place a cup of tea down by Sherlock’s elbow. “Good. I’ve got to go do a shift at the surgery, then we can order take-away and get ready to go to ‘Controversial’. Don’t tell me what you’ve packed in the duffle bag at any point. The less I think about it the better.”

“Yes, John.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Usually, Sherlock would have made a scathing remark about John trying to protect his heterosexuality.

Usually, a case this complex and lacking in clues would have had him on the couch for days in a ‘sulk’ as he tried to make connections between clues that didn’t want to mesh.

Usually, Sherlock would have looked at the very wide variety of sex toys covering his bed and scowled at the tediousness of the lengths people went to to attain physical pleasure.

Unusually, Sherlock looked at the very wide variety of sex toys covering his bed and was trying to find the right combination that would ease John into the wonderful world of homosexual BDSM whilst simultaneously being edgy enough to gain the attention of the entire populace of ‘Controversial’.

Unusually, Sherlock wasn’t used to having a clear mind with a case as frustrating as this one was, but decided it wasn’t wise to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Sherlock nodded his head as he made his selection for tonight and began packing away the unnecessary toys.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonight’s fabulous suit was dark navy blue with baby blue pinstripes running down the length of the jacket and trousers. The waist coat was made out of the same material, the tie a shimmering baby blue overtop a blindingly white silk dress shirt. He had cashmere socks the same colour as his tie, and his shoes were a startling shade of white, intricate holes riddled throughout the trim of the white leather to form a classic and timeless pattern.

Had John mentioned how much he loved these suits?

And Sherlock, well, Sherlock was dressed in dark navy blue leather pants that almost looked black until they hit the light. But the thing that made these pants stand out was that they were laced up the front of each leg with baby blue coloured ribbon. The ribbon was only a centimetre thick, showing off alabaster skin which looked even whiter against the dark navy blue leather. The dark navy blue leather cuffs had baby blue wool lining them this time; John stepping forward and checking the give. John’s dog tags rested over Sherlock’s sternum, and John had to wonder if Sherlock had taken them off at all since he had given them to the man. And to soften the look, a thick baby blue ribbon was tied around Sherlock’s throat.

John raised his fingers to where the ribbon rested against pale skin. He slipped a finger underneath to make sure Sherlock’s airways were not restricted in any way. It was fine. There was plenty of give whilst also appearing snug. But John felt uneasy about it; the potential threat of oxygen deprivation wrecking with his nerves.

Sherlock saw the knot of a frown quickly forming between John’s brows and was quick to soothe the doctor’s unease. “The bow, whilst extravagant, is easily undone.” Sherlock turned to show what looked like a rose made out of baby blue ribbon resting at the base of his curls, twin tails trailing down half the length of his back. “Simply pull both ends evenly and it will unravel.”

John let the ribbon tails slip between his fingers before gently probing the petals of the ‘rose’. “It’s beautiful.”

“I should hope so. It took far too long to tie to be anything less.”

John chuckled as Sherlock turned back around, his gaze finally falling to the taller man’s footwear. Sherlock was wearing a pair of loose slip on shoes and when John raised an eyebrow at this the detective let out a dramatic sigh. “I’ll take the shoes off once we are in the club. But from the curb to the elevator I’d like to wear something on my feet.”

Which was completely understandable. Only the daft walked around barefoot for even a second on the streets of London. 

And then it hit him.

Sherlock being barefoot seemed a lot more intimate to John than the fact that he could see small zigzags of skin from the detective’s ankle to his hip. That naked vulnerability was surely on purpose, the delicate bow in such a placid colour adding to that sense of innocence.

John frowned.

“What have you got planned?”

“You must be more specific, John. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Sherlock busied himself with gathering the duffle bag, stuffing a horrid sap green jumper of John’s into the bag before zipping it up.

Avoidance of a direct question or stalling of answering a question _always_ meant that Sherlock was up to no good. “Bullshit. Why are you trying to look so innocent in a sex club?” John crossed his arms and stood solidly, falling easily into _Captain Watson mode._

“Master Carlisle may have booked us onto the main stage tonight and I may have agreed to it under the pretence of being you.”

John quickly patted himself down as he searched the living room for his mobile phone. He didn’t have to search far it would seem; Sherlock retrieving the device from _somewhere_ inside his tight leather pants and handing it to him. “Bit not good, Sherlock.” John took the cell warily between thumb and forefinger, opening his trouser pocket with his other hand and dropping his cell in there with a grimace.

“You’ve had your fingers up my arse, John. Now’s not the time to be a prude.”

“Shut it, you. I’ll be a prude about whatever the hell I want to be a prude about. Besides,” John gestured to Sherlock's air tight attire, “ _Where the hell_ were you keeping it?”

Sherlock tapped his nose in reply with his forefinger, handing John the riding crop as he shouldered the duffle bag. “Let’s not keep Adriane waiting.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

‘Controversial’ was packed.

The ‘Ground Level’ was a swarming mass of subtle Dominance and submission. And the moment John and Sherlock were spotted John felt like some sort of celebrity.

Doms came up and shook his hand, announcing their eagerness for the upcoming performance and praising Sherlock for his docile submission; kneeling beside John with an arm wrapped loosely around the doctor’s bad leg. John narrowed his eyes at his flatmate briefly towards his obvious ploy at innocent nervousness. 

One of the staff attendants had already taken their duffle bag full of naughty surprises and gone to place it behind the bars counter in the ‘Play Room’, all ready for them when they were ready to take the main stage.

John was currently talking to a Dom and Domme couple, whose blindfolded submissive was kneeling between them, about the upcoming parliament elections of all things. He was distracted when he felt Sherlock lean his weight onto his ‘bad’ leg. His leg didn’t bother him much anymore, and it didn’t hurt now thankfully, so John readjusted his stance to support Sherlock. Threading his fingers through Sherlock’s curls John went back to talking to the couple.

“You two love each other very much, don’t you?” The Domme asked, although the way she asked the question suggested that no matter what John said she thought they were head over heels for each other. Might as well entertain her.

“Very much so. Even when he’s being an annoying twat.” John smiled at her and felt Sherlock bristle slightly at the insult. John calmed him back down by turning his idle petting of Sherlock’s hair into a cranial massage. “Especially when he’s being an annoying twat.”

The Domme looked at the scene in front of her and smiled blissfully, taking her husband’s hand in hers and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Now that, I can understand.”

“Hey!” The Dom smiled fondly at his wife and feigned an air of hurt.

John swallowed down his smirk when he felt Sherlock huff a subtle sigh at the lovey-dovey atmosphere in a BDSM club. “How long have you two been together?” He asked instead.

“Well, we’ve been married for… fourteen years now?” The husband turned to his wife to confirm this and carried on when he got the nod of approval. “And we’ve been in the scene for nearly ten years now.”

“Must have been difficult at the start, what with you both being Dominant.” John had been wondering about this since the moment he had started talking to this couple.

“It was a bit-- rocky at the start, both of us fighting to be on the top. But once we sat down and actually talked about it we found that we rather enjoyed… tag-teaming, if you will.” The Dom said as he and his wife simultaneously unlinked their fingers and rested their hands on either side of the sub’s head, the submissive startling slightly from the sudden contact.

“She’s got noise cancelling ear plugs in.” The Domme stated upon John’s face creasing into query at the subs startle.

“Sensory deprivation?” John asked.

The Domme nodded. “This young wee thing is studying to become a psychologist. She’s very good at reading people through their facial expressions, body movement and vocal tone inflictions. It makes trying to surprise her quite difficult.” The Domme stroked the subs cheek throughout her explanation, smiling when the sub leant into her touch.

“But we found a way around that so we could work together to help her relax and stop analysing everything.” The husband commented, looking proudly at his wife then their sub between them. 

“You don’t say.” John smirked as he felt Sherlock tensing up against his leg; his loose grip on John’s calf tightening. “I happen to know a certain somebody exactly like that.”

The Domme chuckled as the Dom smirked. “We’d be happy to recommend our preferred brand of ear plugs and provide you training in how to best work with sensory deprivation.”

“I may just take you up on that offer sometime.” John smirked.

“You can’t be seri…” Sherlock sucked in a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth as the riding crop landed on his right shoulder blade. _Hard._ “Sir, beg your pardon, Sir.” He tilted his head back from half way looking up at John to the floor once more, scowling at the black marble. John kept hitting him in areas that were meant to welt up and where nerve endings were in abundance. And Sherlock _knew_ that the doctor was aiming for those tender spots on purpose, his knowledge of anatomy supreme.

“Don’t tempt me, love.” John smiled sweetly down at Sherlock, fingers brushing over the baby blue ‘rose’. Sherlock just sulked further where he was kneeling at John’s side, letting go of his calf and shifting slightly so that he was no longer touching the ex-army doctor. 

“That’s delightfully precious.” The Domme smirked. The Dom checked his watch before turning to his wife to show her the time. “Oh my, is it that time already? I’m afraid we must part with you now if we want to get decent seats in front of the main stage.”

“You’ll be watching tonight?” John raised his eyebrows in surprise. With a blind and deaf sub one would think they would go into a private room or further down into the club to the ‘Dungeon’ for a more intense scene.

“Of course. We’ve heard all sorts of interesting things from friends and decided we just had to see you two in action for ourselves.” The Domme smiled, her painted red lips exposing artificially white teeth.

“Then I hope we don’t disappoint.” John smiled at them and bid their short farewells, watching as the occupants of the ‘Ground Level’ slowly began working their way through to the single elevator at the other end of the room, a small queue starting to form. 

John held out his hand and Sherlock looked at it for a second before taking it and letting John assist him in standing up. Sherlock stood with liquid grace, making sure their bodies were as close as they could be without touching.

John’s shoes had small lifts in them but even barefooted Sherlock was still taller than him. It pissed that childish part in him off, that part that resented anybody even remotely taller than him. When he looked up he saw Sherlock looking down at him, keeping his eyes politely on John’s hairline. “Let’s go get a drink before we head up.”

“Sir, yes Sir.” Sherlock followed John to the bar, walking beside him and keeping his head lowered.

“I’ll have a coke thanks, and what do you want?” John turned to ask Sherlock but when he got no reply in return he turned back to the barman. “And he’ll have a mineral water, thanks.”

They stayed on the ‘Ground Level’ talking to other Doms and Dommes until John had finished his coke and waited for Sherlock to down his water bottle. A club attendant came to find them and lead them up the elevator to the main stage. John kept his hand on Sherlock’s lower back the entire time in both an effort to appear possessive and proud but doing it more to steal any nerves either of them might have. 

The attendant informed them that ‘their’ private room had been reserved for them once more and that they were to start strictly in five minutes but could go for as long or as short as they liked. There was no pressure on them to do anything outrageous and should Sherlock feel the need to safe-word out there would be no hostility towards him doing so. This was about them doing a scene that happened to be a scheduled event and was completely on their terms. Hearing all this eased an unknown pressure from John’s shoulders, Sherlock also seeming to relax.

John led Sherlock around the milling crowd that were trying to sort out their seating towards the circular centre stage. A low black leather circular couch had been placed in the centre of the stage, an equally low metal framed thick glass table resting eastward of the couch. Their duffle bag was on the ground beside the table. Now was as good a time as any to start getting ready for their official debut and to see what surprises Sherlock had packed in the bag. 

“Kneel in the centre of the couch facing any way and keep your eyes down.” Best to be as specific as one could when dealing with a Sherlock in front of a crowd. Lord knows that man likes to show off and knit-pick any orders apart that John gives normally let alone inside a BDSM club.

“Sir, yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

John didn’t have to look to know that Sherlock had followed his orders perfectly. Unzipping the duffle bag and peering inside made John falter for no more than a second, but falter nonetheless. 

Steeling his resolve, John reached into the bag and quickly placed the smallest of the objects in there into his trouser pocket. He took off his suit jacket, draping it on top of the low table and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs to roll them up just below his elbows.

John fingers instantly went to toy with the petals of the ‘rose’ at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, the sudden touch making the detective jump slightly before relaxing completely. They still had a few minutes to go before they were allowed to officially start, people milling around the main stage trying to get seats. John decided he would pass the time by lightly petting Sherlock, letting the man preen under the positive attention for a bit. Letting Sherlock know that John was here for him and the moment things got too intense he was free to end everything right then and there.

John caressed the smooth planes of Sherlock’s bare back, having to place his good knee on the low couch to support his weight as he leant forward. The riding crop was placed on the black leather just within Sherlock’s line of sight, letting the threat of disobedience be a reminder to behave.

But Sherlock was very good and stayed very still as John explored the planes of his back, filing away specific sensitive areas that he could exploit later. Placing the other knee on the couch as well, John slowly shuffled forward until he was flush with Sherlock’s back, John being on his knees making him taller than Sherlock. He tilted Sherlock’s head back with gentle fingers under the other man’s chin, smiling warmly when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were closed. 

John gingerly ran the pads of his thumbs over Sherlock's closed eyelids, the thin skin so delicate and the small action completely intimate. He’d image that if Sherlock and himself were actually together, John would caress this fragile skin consistently. He’d imagine that such tender touches would force Sherlock to close his eyes; to block out the rest of the world and just focus on this small pocket of space in the here and now instead. Leaning forward, John placed a long, soft kiss to each of Sherlock’s closed eyes. Once he had pulled his face back to admire the angles of bone structure that were uniquely Sherlock he let a soppy smile grace his weathered face. Sherlock was looking up at him with large clear eyes, soft in their make believe affection.

It made Sherlock look a solid ten years younger.

The youthful bastard.

John cupped Sherlock’s jaw with each of his palms and closed the distance between them with a gentle press of lips to pale forehead, brow, tip of nose, cupids bow, then finally lips. 

Sherlock let out a little keening sound that silenced those close enough to hear it.

Which in turn silenced those who were close enough to the already silenced patrons, whom then turned to see why their acquaintances’ were being silent.

And within in a minute the entire ‘Play Room’ was focused on John and Sherlock, one of the club attendants giving John the nod to begin.

John took one deep breath; faintly tasting the coke he had had just a few minutes ago, and smiled down into Sherlock’s open eyes.

“I want you to guess what I have in my pocket without moving at all. If you can guess correctly, then I’ll use what’s in my pocket on you. If you guess incorrectly however, well, you don’t want to guess incorrectly.”

Sherlock didn’t even blink before responding in a slightly strung voice from the angle of his throat. “Sir, nipple clamps, Master Sir.”

“Good boy.” John leant forward to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips as an instant reward as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of dark, navy blue nipple clamps with a thin chain of the same colour linking them together. “My very clever boy.” He kissed Sherlock again, revelling in the heady way Sherlock began blinking slowly, drunk on soft kisses. “Now be an even better boy and get yourself ready for your reward.”

Sherlock raised two long fingered hands and began toying with his nipples, making them hard and pert enough to be clamped. He circled the tips of his fingers around the hardening buds, gasping as he gave himself a vicious little flick. Half lidded ice blue eyes stayed locked with John’s warm blue as Sherlock pushed his chest out slightly towards his own administrations. 

John gave an approving hum, Sherlock’s hands dropping away instantly as he arched his chest out further for John to attach the nipple clamps. John rubbed the flat of his palms over the hardened little nubs before attaching the first clamp. 

“AH!” Sherlock cried out, bending fruitlessly away from the clamp into John’s chest.

Moving quickly to distract Sherlock, John gave the wincing detective several hard kisses as he swiftly attached the second clamp.

“Nngh--” Sherlock groaned in a sensation overload, turning slightly so he could bury his head in the junction of John’s good shoulder. The ginger movements still managed to make the chain connecting the two clamps swing, Sherlock whimpering as he rapidly lost the ability to think straight. He was brought out of the intense, sweet agony on his chest by gentle shushing sounds coming from above him and warm, confident hands rubbing circles along the sides of his spine.

John kissed the top of Sherlock’s forehead before moving away from the detective and opening the duffle bag again. “Take your pants off completely, love.” Reaching into the duffle bag, John pulled out a bottle of lubricant and a slim, dark navy blue vibrator. Placing the items on the low couch he watched Sherlock move about delicately as he peeled the leather pants off. Soft zigzagged indents ran all the way up those long legs from where the ribbon had pressed against Sherlock’s pale skin.

The leather pants were folded and placed on the table beside the duffle bag. Sherlock then moved back to the centre of the couch and sat on his haunches, eyes trained downwards awaiting further orders.

John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s taught thighs before leaning in to claim a hot and passionate kiss. When he had the detective thoroughly distracted with his tongue, lips and teeth, the doctor gave a light tug on the glinting chain resting across Sherlock’s chest.

The reaction was immediate. Sherlock bowed away from John’s touches and cried out into his mouth before desperate surging forward, arms wrapped tight around John’s neck as he fervently searched for heated kisses. 

John growled into the kisses, reaching for the riding crop and bringing it down harshly to impact with Sherlock’s left buttock, a loud crack sounding out in the room. 

Sherlock spluttered before dropping his head and quickly tried to set things right. “Sir, beg your pardon, Sir.”

“Hands and knees, facing away from me. Now.” John watched Sherlock quickly scramble into position, admiring the dip of his spine and imagining the swing of the chain. Dropping the crop he placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips and gave the man a quick push, smirking as the chain swung and Sherlock gasped.

Wanting to get a move on, John sat down behind Sherlock, grabbing the lube and slicking up three of his fingers. Without any sort of warning John pushed his forefinger completely inside of his flatmate. Sherlock’s hips stuttered, a loud moan escaping his kiss swollen lips as he clenched down on the intruding digit. It hadn’t hurt and didn’t feel uncomfortable, but the surprise and shock of the sudden entrance into his body had him moaning, pushing back into John’s hand for more.

“Slow down, love. We want to make this last, don’t we?” John teased, massaging Sherlock’s inner walls with the single digit.

“Sir, yes Sir, thank you Sir.” Sherlock’s body was wracked in a violent shiver as he tried to still and calm his body. He’d managed to get things mostly under control then John began running his hand over the planes of his back and ruined everything. His skin was hypersensitive and the gentle, _loving_ strokes of John’s warm, dry palm were his downfall. Sherlock’s arms could no longer support his weight and his upper body fell to the couch. The sudden action jarred the chain connecting to the nipple clamps and he cried out, spine arching upwards and body pushing backwards onto John’s finger.

Sherlock let out a choked sob when John removed his finger and moved away from him to go back to the duffle bag. He whined low and long until John was back at his side, easing Sherlock onto his back.

“Oh my love, you’re just so _sensitive_.”

“Guh-nngh!” Sherlock arched up into John’s fist as the doctor began stroking his unsurprisingly already dripping cock. Then he groaned in horror when he felt the tight rubber band, in a delicate baby blue colouring, secure itself snugly around the base of his cock and testicles. “Please, I need… please…” Sherlock wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he was begging for right now, but he knew John had whatever he needed and would definitely give it to him with the right incentive.

“That neither began nor ended with a ‘Sir’, love.” John smirked when Sherlock’s eyes flicked over to the riding crop then back to John, the detective’s body ever so slightly curling up on itself so as to protect all of his vital bits. “But I’ll let it slide just this once because I didn’t warn you about the cock ring.” The visible sag of relief in Sherlock’s posture made John huff a laugh.

John knew that Sherlock had completely forgotten that they had quite the crowd watching them right now. The man was too far gone in hypersensitivity. 

But unlike Sherlock, John was very aware of the crowd watching them play at being kinky. He was also aware that of the two times they had been in the club he hadn’t really included himself in Sherlock’s pleasure. Sure, he’d been the one to melt Sherlock’s brain twice with a mere hand job and a bit of anal fingering, but he hadn’t _gotten_ anything from the experiences. He supposed to others that he had gotten the gift of submission from an occasionally difficult submissive, but he wanted to build onto their persona’s more. Really cement in peoples heads that he and Sherlock had a bond that was intense and so full of unconventional love and devotion that they would want to get in on what they had going on. That the _suspect_ would want to include themselves in some way.

So without too much thought on the matter else he chicken out, John leant down and licked a fat stripe right up Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock _yelled_ so suddenly his voice broke off into a cracking rumble and thrust his pelvis futilely into the air as John moved his head away quick, ready for such a reaction. 

John realised, with only a little bit of _‘oh-god-I-hope-liking-the-taste-of-cum-doesn’t-make-me-gay’_ shock that Sherlock’s pre-ejaculate didn’t taste, well, awful. It was actually rather… sweet? And the only reference to the taste of semen that he had was of his own way back when he had been a teenager and didn’t believe all the fuss girls made about not swallowing the stuff down. From that day onwards he understood quite _clearly_ that if a woman waned to spit his spunk out that he would have a cup or something waiting there for them. Semen wasn’t _awful_ but it wasn’t pleasant either.

Taking Sherlock’s erection in hand, John licked the tip of his flatmate’s cock where the most pre-cum had collected after he had spread the most of it along the man’s cock before when he had attached the cock ring. And yes, Sherlock’s pre-cum tasted quite sweet. It still has that bitter and salty quality to it that all ejaculate had, but the sweetness overpowered all other flavours. “Babe, care to tell me why you have such sweet cum?”

Sherlock took a moment to collect his _very_ scattered thoughts as he refocused everything on his John. He was intrigued by the sight of John mulling over the taste of his ejaculate like a fine wine and took another moment to file away those images into a small safety box he had made in his mind palace specifically to store away crucial information whilst his body betrayed his intellect and psyche thoroughly. Now that that lovely sight was properly filed away, Sherlock took yet another moment to figure out how he was going to say this next bit using vocal training.

“Sir,” Sherlock took a moment to relax his body from its current locked position before continuing. “Sir, your sub has been under the impression that Sir would want to exploit his sub’s sensitivity by stimulating his sub without a layer of latex to dull your sub’s senses, Sir.” John hummed a note of approval at his correct speech, making Sherlock want to hear that sound again. “Sir has not tasted his sub’s ejaculate for quite some time so your sub didn’t want to put Sir off with what may be viewed as an unpleasant taste, Sir.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, love.” But just because John had to keep things moving, he applied a bit more lube to his fingers and watched with pride as Sherlock lifted his knees up and parted his legs as wide as he could. John teased Sherlock’s glistening pucker from previous and now renewed lube for just a moment before slowly pushing his index finger back inside the detective again. “Continue.”

Sherlock did his best to stay still and even voiced as he continued his explanation. “Sir, with this thought in mind, Sir, your sub thought he would consume specific foods to improve the taste in a sweet context, Sir, whilst also cutting certain foods from his diet to avoid making the original taste of ejaculation stronger and more potent in the lesser variety, Sir.”

“What did you eat to make it so sweet?” John asked before dipping his head to obtain all and any semen that may be coating Sherlock’s throbbing cock.

Sherlock moaned his answer out in one long, low and rumbled breath. “Sir, mainly pineapple, Sir, and quite a lot of it, Sir.”

“So that old myth is actually true. You must’ve put a supermarket out of stock.” John teased as he eased a second finger inside Sherlock.

Sherlock was doing fine with that second finger, he really was, his body shuddered a bit and he couldn’t stop the low groans from leaving his throat if he wanted to, but other than that he could really, honestly, _truly_ handle having two fingers inside of him.

But then _John_ had decided he needed a _prostate massage._

Sherlock bucked clean off the bed, hips raised in suspension mid-air. Hands came down to clutch at John’s wrist, not knowing whether he wanted to pull the doctor’s fingers out or push them in deeper more. Keeping his fingers inside his flatmate, John relented on the internal pressure and helped Sherlock ease himself back down onto the low couch, pale skin starting to sheen with sweat. The contrast of that slick alabaster skin on the dark black leather of the couch really was quite lovely, John mused.

“Love, keep your hands above your head please or I’ll have to put those pretty cuffs to good use.” John’s tone left no room for debate whilst also drenching itself in affection. 

“Sir, please, Sir…” Sherlock groaned, very aware of John’s fingers spreading and massaging his inner walls everywhere _but_ his prostate. Sherlock didn’t know whether he wanted to thank John for giving him a bit of reprieve or if he wanted to yell at the man to fuck him already. What he did know was that his nipples ached something fierce, his skin was so sensitive the light AC in the room was making him shiver with want, his cock was so hard it was turning a deep red colour with so much blood pumping through the organ that Sherlock could feel the thrum of his own pulse down there, and his balls were so drawn up to his body - full and ready to release their load with even the slightest of touch… But because of that damned _cock ring_ Sherlock was doomed to merely following orders and lying back as John all but tortured him pleasure.

“Just relax for me, baby.” John moved a little closer to Sherlock so he could wrap his right arm around the man’s left leg to help keep the detective grounded in any way possible. He placed a gentle kiss to the side of Sherlock’s knee as he eased a third and final finger inside. Sherlock’s head thumped against the couch, biting down on a moan. John kissed Sherlock there again and watched as icey eyes clouded with lust found his own and locked there.

Remembering that they had an audience, John looked towards the glinting chain laying innocently across Sherlock’ chest. Sherlock saw where John’s trail of thoughts were aimed and started shaking his head from side to side furiously. To no avail. Obviously.

John moved his three fingers within Sherlock, stretching the man out carefully but as quickly as possible. Dipping just the index finger of his free hand under the dark navy blue chain John pulled the links just short of taught so that no real change had occurred to the clamps. Then in a pit of what Sherlock would claim ‘evil intent’, John tugged in the chain and rubbed against the man’s prostate. 

Sherlock yelled out in surprise, pain and pleasure mixing and clashing within his nervous system. His hips bucked wildly, his spine rolled and recoiled with a shaking shudder, his hands were caught in a death grip on the edge of the couch, knuckles gone white, his eyes were wide open but unseeing, and his voice finally cut out when his orgasm mangled its way through every atom his body housed.

When he was able to tell up from down again, Sherlock’s eyes focused in on John’s face smiling above him, both of the doctor’s dry hands rubbing lightly up and down his sides; counting his ribs.

Sherlock knew he was rambling away, could feel his lips moving and hear noises in such a deep tone that it had to belong to him. But he couldn’t _hear_ the words; the sounds nothing but gibberish to his fried brain.

John leant down and gave him a gentle kiss against his still moving mouth, huffing out a laugh that Sherlock greedily swallowed as his lips kept moving with unintelligible speech.

John helped lift his head up and it took a while for Sherlock to actually focus in on what John wanted him to look at.

His cock was still hard and there was no ejaculation anywhere to be found.

_His cock was still hard and there was no ejaculation anywhere to be found._

**_Why the hell was his cock was still hard and where the hell did his ejaculation go?!_ **

John placed him back down on the couch gingerly, turning Sherlock’s head to the side so he could watch the doctor slick up the vibrator. He faintly heard John mumble something about having a _“dry orgasm”_ and Sherlock didn’t know what they were but if that was what he had just experienced then he never wanted to have another abomination like that ever again. Ever again. Never. Never ever.

The vibrator slid easily inside of him, Sherlock’s body relaxed from a dud of an orgasm and still stretched out from before. He accepted John’s apologetic kisses that were hidden beneath smirks and groaned into the slightly chapped lips above him as John eased the cock ring off of him. Sherlock heard himself babble some more, John trying to stop the flow of words with his sorry little kisses. 

John took the base of the vibrator in hand and began gently pulling it from his body, pushing it back inside with just as much care. 

The stimulation felt too much at first, and John must have known it because he began kissing his way down Sherlock’s body, showering him with affection. Sherlock arched his torso towards John as he began pushing his hips down onto the vibrator, settling a comfortable pace that quelled the botched ejaculation from before. 

John kissed his way back up Sherlock’s body and the detective barely heard the whispered, “Sherlock I’m sorry, I’m so _so_ sorry.” 

Sherlock screamed his throat hoarse as he felt the slick heat of John’s mouth engulf his cock and that conflicting pleasure pain throughout his body as the doctor tugged on the chain connecting the nipple clamps.

Then the vibrator turned on. And Sherlock lost all thought to a blinding white.

\----------------------------------------------

John had a feeling Sherlock would black out once he was able to have a proper orgasm this time round. But the shock of feeling Sherlock’s body go from completely strung out and taught to slowly relaxed and limp was still unsettling. He swallowed down every drop of sweet cum that Sherlock produced, waiting until he felt the organ in his mouth go soft before he gingerly released his flatmate’s flaccid penis and scooped his detective up in his arms.

Sherlock was deceptively heavy for his lithe frame, but John carried him like he weighed no more than a sparrow. An attendant came out of nowhere carrying all of their equipment and belongings, opening their private room door. The attendant waited until John had gotten Sherlock inside then placed their belongings on the coffee table, moving about to place two water bottles within reach of John then left the room, closing the door behind him.

John buried his head in Sherlock’s chest, a hand flying out to feel for the man’s pulse. He listened to the heartbeat and sound of breath beneath his ear and scrunched his eyes up on tears that threatened to spill. Sherlock was stable and would be fine when he awoke, but John was disgusted in himself for reasons that couldn’t be blamed. He had used all of the equipment Sherlock had put in the duffle bag, so Sherlock had been comfortable with everything he had used, even the cock ring… but John couldn’t move past the sounds of Sherlock choking out sobs when he realised that he hadn’t cum yet. 

_And the words he had spoken…_ Sherlock had rambled away once the dry orgasm had wracked his body. Most of the things he had said didn’t make much sense. A few chemical equations about the hormones released during orgasm and lazy deductions about the people watching them. But then… then Sherlock had started to tell John that he loved him. Well, as much as Sherlock could love anyone. But he told John he was just going to use the word ‘love’ until he figured out what love was and whether he was experiencing it or not. Because Sherlock had never loved before. But he’d never felt like this about anybody else. So he told John about when he had first begun loving him. All the little things that had led up to Sherlock believing he was currently in love. And why he loved him. And what he didn’t love about John but could learn to love over time. If John gave him that time. And why wouldn’t he because obviously John loved him too. And how they were growing to grow old together. And… and then John couldn’t handle anymore of it and had kissed Sherlock into a somewhat silence. Swallowing and muffling the words to a point where only he could understand them.

Sherlock stirred in his arms and John pulled himself out of his self loathing for a bit. He reached out for a water bottle and uncapped it, offering the liquid to Sherlock who swallowed it down like he’d just been wandering a desert. Once half of the bottle had been drained Sherlock pushed John down to lie flat on his back as he grabbed the soft mink blanket that was draped over the back of the long couch and covered them both with it as he settled down sprawled over John. The detective’s body was shuddering lightly from excessive stimulation with the odd jerk of muscle as his nerves tried to figure out how to work properly again.

Sherlock mumbled the whole time he did this, seeming to have picked up where he left off about all the activities he and John would engage in once they were old and retired. How they would bother Lestrade all the way into the DI’s retirement. How they would maintain beehives and Sherlock could create his own honeys and how John could grow all types of different vegetables and fruits and make chutneys and jams and preserves. Then they could send everything with a ridiculously high sugar or fat content to Mycroft under the impression on kindness. And they’d get a nice, intelligent dog together. Something big that didn’t yap all the time that Sherlock could train to do various tasks and John could spoil with leftovers. But the dog wasn’t allowed to sleep on their bed, no matter how much John pleaded with him. People with large dogs were also less likely to be burgled or experience home invasions. And as Sherlock worked on his research and cold cases and he odd current interesting case via email John could work on his writing. Because as much as Sherlock currently teased and mocked John for his blogs, they really were quite good. They’d be better though if he would just start including all the important facts.

John liked the sound of each and every idea Sherlock suggested and squeezed his arms around his detective possessively. Sherlock was more than happy to press his naked body closer to John’s but then whined in complaint at the feeling of the suit fabric against his bare skin so harshly. He pushed John away and began to grumble and sulk and John took the hint. 

He draped his suit over the back of the other chair in the room and climbed back under the mink blanket with nothing but his pants on. Sherlock huddled into him instantly but decided that even the pants were too much clothing and used a combination of his hands and toes to rid of the offensive garment. 

John ended up on his back with Sherlock half on top of him. His detective had his ear to John’s chest as he listened to the beat of his heart, listing off everything he knew about hearts in both the anatomical sense and the emotional. The anatomical list was significantly longer than the emotional one. The long pale fingers of one hand delicately ran over the scar in John’s shoulder as thoughts about why actual true ‘love’ was hard to find and quantify turned into several deductions about how John was shot and the skill of the sniper that shot him.

John tuned it all out, like he always did, and just enjoyed the sound of Sherlock’s voice and the feel of the vibrations that said voice sent throughout his abdomen. With every small jerk of muscle John would use one of hands to ease life back into the twitching nerves of Sherlock’s body until he settled down again.

John eventually ran his fingers through Sherlock’s damp curls when his knuckles brushed over silky ribbon. Remembering how Sherlock had told him to undo the complicated bow, John took a tail of ribbon in each hand, and gently pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you could look past all my typos and grammar whoopsies!!! And I hope you liked that slightly cliffed ending. Ghost, my wonderfully talented beta, told me it was rather cliffy, but I didn't really see the cliff in it.  
> If you liked this then please **KUDOS** and if you really liked it then please **COMMENT**. Thank you so much for reading and I'll let you know via my tumblr *cough*shamelessplugging*coughcough* when the editted version is up. You'll probably want to read the editted version when it gets uploaded because I add anywhere between 1-5 pages of edits and it's all over an easy read because of the correct grammar, lol. But yeah, here's my tumblr, if fro some strange reason you don't already have it?? http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art Oh, what was that, you wanted it agian, well ok http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art One more time for good luck?? http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art XD


	5. VOCAL TRAINING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read inside

I have rewritten Slave Speak because I am no longer proud of it. I'm currently updating this in an internet cafe and don't have enough time to do a detailed thing so click over here to see why. http://archiveofourown.org/works/1160506 I love every single one of you who have veiwed, kodsed, commented and just generally been apart of this fic. I hope you will rejoin me in the rework if this piece xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you liked please KUDOS and if you really liked then please COMMENT. And if you want to check out WIPs and sneak peeks at future chapters go check out my tumblr!! http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art OH!!! If you want to be a part of chapter four fo 'Slave Speak' then head on over to my tumblr and read the latest post!!! http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art


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